


Bound in the Spider's Web

by Pwib



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Abduction, Ankle Cuffs, BDSM, Blindfolds, Bondage, Bondage and Discipline, Choking, Dom/sub, Dominance, Dominatrix, F/F, Fondling, Gags, Heavy BDSM, Kidnapping, Manhandling, Master/Pet, Master/Slave, Mistress, Nipple Play, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Touching, Panties, Relationship(s), Rope Bondage, S&M, Scents & Smells, Sexual Slavery, Shameless Smut, Slavery, Smut, Spanking, Submission, Teasing, Vaginal Fingering, ballgags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-24
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-08-27 12:56:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 16
Words: 35,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8402551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pwib/pseuds/Pwib
Summary: With Amelie "Widowmaker" Lacroix's greatest kill merely a plot to capture her greatest prize and fulfill her fantasies of total domination, what will become of Lena "Tracer" Oxton as she becomes bound - physically and emotionally - in the spider's web?





	1. Lena Oxton, Overwatch agent: 2054 - 2080

“Such a sweet, foolish girl…” purred Widowmaker smugly as she looked down on her prey, the young British pilot clutching her chest as she grimaced at the feet of the tall, elegant assassin.

“Nnngghh…” Tracer groaned, her chest feeling like it would cave in from the force of her opponent slamming her against a wall mere seconds ago. Her chrono accelerator flickered in and out of life, something that scared her almost as much as the still-warm rifle barrel inches from her temple.

She gasped for breath, each attempt lighting up her chest with pain as her eyes slowly and carefully opened to take in the scene before her. The deadly femme fatale stood over her, blending in and out of the night sky surrounding them as Tracer’s eyes blurred in and out from the shock she just suffered.

Hearing an ominous low hum descending upon her from above, Tracer looked up as much as her compromised position would allow. Her eyes caught the shape of a small dropship, big enough for only a few people, lowering itself gradually towards the rooftop.

“Y-you won’t get… away with this…” mumbled the defeated Overwatch agent in her best attempt at defiance, pathetic as it was with her current situation. As she forced her words through gritted teeth, Widowmaker pulled her gun away with her left hand and clicked a small device in her right which lit up a menacing red, filling Tracer with dread.

“I think you’re right, cherie.” the former Amelie Lacroix flashed a devious smile as she swiftly bent down, bringing the underside of her right hand to the side of Tracer’s neck with a soft thud. With no time to react, it was all the young British girl could do to shoot her eyes open wide and utter half a gasp as she felt a sharp, thin prick penetrate her smooth skin.

The once-perky pilot could feel a liquid being forced into her body and her bloodstream from the needle, but was utterly helpless to do anything about it. As each second drifted past her body became heavier and heavier, her eyes sliding shut as her head lolled back, rolling gently on the floor until coming to rest, mouth slightly open as her body went limp. She drifted silently into a deep, unconscious sleep, her chest rising and falling quietly.

After feeling the last of the powerful sleeping agent leave the needle, Widowmaker tucked the injector away before taking a moment to admire what was in front of her. 

Just as she’d hoped, that bucket of bolts, Mondatta - useless to Talon alive or dead - had proved the perfect distraction to lure Tracer into a solo confrontation. How nice of Talon to lend her a dropship for a private errand, the blue-skinned assassin thought sarcastically.

Her eyes roamed contentedly across the sleeping girl’s body in front of her, even if much of it was covered by that ridiculous contraption she strapped to her chest. She fixated briefly on Tracer’s full, pink lips, remembering how the young pilot would bite her bottom lip gently whilst looking at the then-Amelie when she would visit Watchpoint Gibraltar, the Overwatch base of years past. 

When she didn’t think the older French beauty could see, of course. Though she usually did.

Widowmaker had, though she would never have admitted it even as Amelie, also thought of Tracer as something more than the energetic, goofy young girl everyone told her was a flying ace. She could never imagine opening herself up to a romantic equal in Lena Oxton, despite how she may secretly adore the Brit’s perfectly sweet smile, tomboy attitude and delicious physical attributes. 

Any relationship would have to be utterly unequal, with Amelie the undisputed mistress and Lena her loyal subject - and she had a feeling Lena wouldn’t complain too much about that.

But, with her transformation into Widowmaker, the subtle teases and romantic brinksmanship of Amelie gave way to the assertive, supremely dominant and conniving young lady who waved her right hand in circles above her head in a distinctive call sign, beckoning the dropship to land.

Where Amelie may have longed in forbidden dreams to own Lena Oxton, body, mind and soul, to keep her and make her entirely her own, Widowmaker was set on making it a reality.

The dropship ramp lowered with a muted hum as the sultry French abductor purred to herself contentedly.

“Mission complete.” she whispered, not just to herself but to her helpless, forcibly unconscious prize, blissfully unaware of what was waiting for her when she roused from from her slumber.

——————————————————————————————————————————

Lena Oxton, Overwatch agent: 2054 - 2080

——————————————————————————————————————————

Cool, yellow-tinged light filled the room from an overhead fixture and bedside lamp. Though perfectly neutral white lights were available, Amelie, and now Widowmaker, preferred something in the classic yellow tone and how it brought out subtle tones and highlights in skin.

Since her skin changed hue from a sumptuous peach to a cold blue, Widowmaker had thought of removing the lights but stopped herself every time she thought of her and Amelie’s long-held fantasy of admiring Lena’s beautiful body under those same lights, highlighting her curves perfectly.

Thanks to her new skills and connections, not to mention her newly aggressive personality, that dream was no longer just a fantasy.

Widowmaker sat in her personal apartment, off-base from Talon and free from inspections or intrusions of any kind from the organisation that had bestowed her new name and abilities upon her. She had earned that much through her combat record and special status, and was provided with a fashionable open-plan home comprised of a bedroom and bathroom, both behind doors; the open-plan part coming into play with the kitchen, including its small breakfast table, and a sitting area with a window to view the surrounding town.

She sat at this moment in the bedroom, legs crossed on a fashionable wooden chair with airs of classic French style. Tight jeans, thick socks and a turtleneck sweater adorned her tall, elegant body as her eyes fixed intently on what lay in front of her.

On the lower half of her queen-size bed, a familiar figure lay on her front. And by Widowmaker’s calculations, she was about to wake up from her little forced-nap of the past 12 hours very soon.

Tracer lay naked on the soft, exquisite sheets, her perky breasts supporting her chest. Her arms were bound behind her back with elegant silk rope, its black coils winding four times around her wrists before tying off, palms facing each other. A similar story repeated around her knees and ankles, as four smooth coils held the helpless ex-pilot in bondage.

Her head lay in line with her bound arms and legs, turned to the right as her eyes began to flutter slightly, her breathing beginning to push out tiny, soft groans as she began to come back to reality. In a corner of the room lay Tracer’s equipment and clothing - everything from her all-important chrono accelerator to her trademark dual Pulse Pistols, and even her simple white panties, folded into a neat pile far out of reach.

Widowmaker leaned forward with anticipation as her gorgeous prey began to stir. After bringing Tracer to her home under total secrecy, she had meticulously destroyed any method Overwatch had of tracking the naive young operative before proceeding to undress the unconscious girl and apply her secure bindings.

She payed little attention to what she could have done with Lena as she lay unconscious, however, treating the undressing as largely mechanical. The blue-skinned beauty knew that the far sweeter fruits awaited in seeing, hearing and feeling Lena’s response to everything she would do with her when she awoke.

Taking a black silk scarf between her hands and folding it back over itself a few times, Widowmaker quickly created a soft, smooth and yet thick strap of fabric held taught between her fists. She moved gently forward as Tracer stirred before her, her eyes slowly opening as they adjusted to the light.

“…nnhh… what a rubbish night…” she mumbled as she returned to consciousness, assuming her sore head and tight body were just the results of a bad night’s sleep. That is, until she tried to move. Tracer jerked her head to look down at her body as best she could, perplexed at the feeling of dragging her whole torso when she tried to scratch her head with her right hand.

After a couple of attempts, and noticing the same sensation with her legs, she realised she was in trouble with a sharp intake of breath. Bending at the knee and bringing her calves up to 90 degrees, Tracer’s eyes shot wide open with fear as she saw the perfectly coiled black rope binding her ankles together, and that binding her wrists came into view. 

She flicked her head up and squealed as she saw the face of the woman she remembered chasing across rooftops in King’s Row mere hours earlier, inches from her own.

“NO! HEEL-MMMMNNPPHHMM!!” Tracer managed half of a cry for help as Widowmaker quickly and firmly applied the folded silk scarf to her captive’s lips, forcing it between them and quickly tying it tightly into place behind her head, over her styled brown hair and partly covering the lower half of her ears. The naked pilot tried to twist her head away and finish her plea, but it was too late. Though she could still make some sounds, they were incomprehensibly muffled and much quieter.

“Mnmmhppnmh!!” the young, helpless tomboy squealed, her brows furrowed in attempted anger as her captor contemptuously held her head up with one hand by placing Tracer’s chin in her palm and squeezing her cheeks lightly with her thumb and forefinger. Widowmaker let the captive Miss Oxton listen to herself protest incoherently for a few moments before pressing her other finger firmly over those freshly-gagged lips.

Tracer’s protests continued for a few moments, her shoulders and hips wiggling in futility against her tight bonds around her knees, ankles and wrists. The smug smile of plump, shapely lips facing her soon made it clear to Tracer that her struggles were being very much enjoyed.

“Shhhhh.” smirked Widowmaker, feeling Tracer’s lips writhe impotently underneath her slender finger. She held this position for a few more moments until Tracer began to quiet, her progression from anger to fear shown transparently in her face as her protests calmed.

Widowmaker waited until Lena’s beautiful brown eyes were as wide as they could be, locked onto her own as her captive’s chest rose and fell rapidly as she realised her predicament.

Bound, gagged, naked and helpless with a woman who was at best now a stranger, at worst an assassin.

Little did Tracer know at that moment, if Widowmaker had designs on ending her, it would have been trivial to do so. The former Amelie Lacroix had much more enjoyable uses in mind for Lena Oxton, which she was about to find out.


	2. Lena Oxton, bound, naked, gagged and helpless: 2080 - Present

Tracer’s deep brown eyes kept their trademark sparkle, even as they barely contained her fear and panic as she fixated on the unnaturally yellow eyes of the cold-blooded abductor staring back at her, holding her bound in expertly applied rope, naked, and gagged with a thick black scarf forced into her mouth.

Her lips, plump and pink, pressed firmly against Widowmaker’s finger as the beautiful assassin quietly repeated for her captive morsel to be silent, flashing a subdued, mischievous smile as she gazed deep into Lena’s eyes. 

In that moment, Tracer forced herself to calm down as she tried to see past the artificial hue of her captor’s eyes and understand her true intentions. Her breathing slowed as she collected her thoughts, her hands locking her fingers to her palms to prevent the urge to challenge the knots holding her at Widowmaker’s mercy.

As she stared into those eyes, mere inches from her own, they stared back, at once familiar and alien. She saw fleeting glimpses of someone she once knew. A tall, aloof and gorgeous French lady who could have been mistaken for a fashion model, often seen around at Gibraltar. Memories began to return of the nights Lena had spent thinking of that Amelie, the stolen glances across the mess hall hoping she didn’t see, and how Lena longed to have the courage to invite her to hang out… or something more.

After a few moments, Widowmaker noticed Tracer drifting off a little into dreamier thoughts, in spite of her very compromised situation and smiled a subtle, contented smile; inside and out. She, and Amelie before her, always had an inkling that Tracer was a little in awe of her. Getting lost in a daydream that would make a teenager blush having been captured, stripped naked, bound and gagged only served to confirm her suspicions.

Despite the enjoyment of watching various subtle levels of wonder and confusion wash across Lena’s face, her kissable lips separated by the black silk filling her mouth, the former Amelie gently pulled her finger away from the younger girl’s lips and pushed a quiet, sharp whistle out from between her own curvaceous lips.

Now a permanent shade of purple following her physical transformation, Widowmaker applied a thick, glossy lipstick of a slightly darker hue when not on operations. Though she didn’t choose her now-permanent color willingly, she had always liked purple, feeling it had a unique allure of its own signifying depth and passion. And so, she had every intention of making it her own.

It helped that her lips retained their alluring, plump shape that had people paying as much attention to shape they took to form her words as the words themselves. Men - and no shortage of women - had often said they were her best feature, at least, north of her neckline. Tracer herself had mumbled something to that effect once, before dashing out of the ladies room in embarrassment when she happened to find Amelie also washing her hands one afternoon at Gibraltar.

Tracer snapped out of her daydream and now stared at both Widowmaker’s eyes and lips, flicking between them with her gaze as she subconsciously looked for reassurance that she was looking at the right thing - though from who, she wasn’t sure. It was very apparent that not only was Widowmaker her captor, but she was also a highly skilled assassin - and a very beautiful woman with an aura that had always been strong, and was now almost overpowering.

Widowmaker leaned in a few inches closer, tilting her head back a few degrees slowly and pausing for a moment before pursing her lips for a quick, focused breath out. It took Tracer a little by surprise as she closed her eyes, the air rushing past them. She tentatively opened them a few moments later to feel the strands of hair that had fallen down onto her forehead blown back to their proper position.

“Mmhmmnph…” mumbled Lena quietly, her eyes apprehensively returning to Widowmaker’s. The bubbly, energetic young girl was still processing the idea that anything she said - or rather, tried to say - didn’t matter as long as she had the smooth, thick black scarf in her mouth, tied tightly around her head, turning all her words and sentences into nothing more than indistinct groans. And there was nothing she could do about it.

Slowly lowering her hand supporting Lena’s head, she angled the muffled ex-pilot’s face gently so as it came to rest again on the smooth, silk bed sheets, Lena faced to her right - and, of course, to Widowmaker, who proceeded to lean in slowly once more towards her helpless captive’s cute, confused little face, lips rubbing discontentedly against the gag keeping her unable to speak.

The long, slender fingers of the older French lady’s left hand touched their tips lightly to her plaything’s right shoulder, tracing delicately with tiny waves down to her right elbow. She felt a slight judder from Tracer as she did so, the bound brunette tightening up as she felt her captor, adversary and former object of romantic awe - though Tracer herself wouldn’t have articulated it that way - begin to gently explore her nervous body.

Pausing for a moment to take in Lena’s reaction from both her face and her subtle muscle tightening, Widowmaker swirled her fingers lightly on Tracer’s upper back between her shoulder blades, dancing like a perfectly sensual ice skater gliding across the rink in a divine pattern. It sent small shudders up the kidnapped tomboy’s neck, prompting a small but noticeable shiver at the base of her head.

“You are here to be mine, _ma petite chienne.”_ purred Widowmaker, her lower lip pushing upwards slightly as she spoke her last word with a sensual, anticipating smile and half-squint, both of which she held for a moment as she awaited the inevitable response from the subjugated girl shivering under her touch.

“Hmmnph!? Nnmmfff!” Tracer’s hands contorted as she spoke, unsure what to do and in no small panic as she clenched her eyes shut, trying to think what the words she had just heard in that sultry French accent meant. She shook her head side-to-side as much as her position allowed, pulling on her wrist ties as her ankles also began to writhe again against their bonds.

Within a moment of her prey’s renewed protests, Widowmaker quickly and firmly forced her right hand, expertly manicured nails and all with purple nail polish, under Lena’s left cheek, wrapping her palm across the suddenly noisy girl’s pretty little gagged mouth. The edges of her palm covered the extremes of Tracer’s lips, with her thumb pushing hard on the soft skin just below her nose.

Tracer’s eyes shot open once more, darting around the room as the slender feminine hand clamped it’s own soft skin tightly over her mouth, fingertips digging gently but firmly into her cheeks. She could no longer shake her head with any real success, but she could still try to protest audibly, she thought.

“Nmhmmmnpph..!” Though even more muffled than before, she was still audible, and it was her only choice. Tracer breathed deeply to prepare her loudest protest yet, through her gag and Widowmaker’s hand. As she reached the apex of her breathing in, she stopped dead in her tracks with far more panic than she had felt since right after she woke up, bound and naked.

“NNGGH!?” Widowmaker’s left thumb and forefinger pinched Lena’s nose, forcing both nostrils to be airtight, much to their owner’s surprise and displeasure. Her eyes darted around the room trying to find her captor’s face, eyebrows pleading as she felt her heart beat faster and faster, ready to shake out of her chest. Lena’s bound legs and hands flailed as wildly as they could, looking for any escape as she felt her chest start to burn.

And then, in an instant, the pinch was released. Widowmaker slowly pulled her left hand away, making sure Tracer got a good look at it still in the shape it was when it had denied her breath for a few frantic moments. Now able to breathe freely again, the helpless British plaything had to force herself to calm down to stop herself hyperventilating. 

After a few moments, she began to feel her heart slow back down as well, as did her breathing, though possible only through her nose thanks to the slightly cold blue-skinned hand clamped firmly over her already gagged mouth, from the base of the palm to the fingertips. Tracer could feel a little soreness developing from how tightly the hand pressed her skin against her jaw.

Her captor’s left hand quickly found another use. As Tracer was readjusting herself to her new reality once more, and as her hands and feet returned to their much more subdued excuses for resistance against their tight, confining bonds, she felt those same fingertips begin to dance across her right hip.

“This will be most enjoyable for you, _ma petite chienne_ …” counseled Widowmaker, her bottom lip remaining separated from her top as she paused her words whilst her left hand began it’s work, beginning to press firmer against Tracer’s smooth, toned, lightly freckled skin as it slid down past her hip to lay parallel with her plump, round runner’s-ass.

“…if you do not resist your mistress too much.” she continued, ignoring more subdued, though still audible and noticeably frustrated protests from the pretty little mouth beneath her right palm. Widowmaker’s left hand made full contact with Lena’s skin as it slid slowly up the side of the bountiful, gorgeous bubble of peach-coloured, lightly-freckled flesh to cup the top of Tracer’s left ass-cheek, much to the displeasure of her helplessly bound hands, which writhed uselessly in an attempt to protect her gorgeous body from the exploration that Widowmaker was intent on.

“Because you will be with me for a very long time.” Widowmaker leaned in towards Tracer’s exposed right ear as she spoke, making sure she was heard over her plaything’s protests of increasing volume and frequency as Lena felt her tight, toned ass-cheek in the grip of Widowmaker’s slender fingers. Though it sent unmistakeable tingles up her spine, Tracer was far too preoccupied with stopping it from happening to acknowledge that little fact.

“Ah, of course, you do not speak French. Or even, parts of English.” smiled the former Amelie, spitting her words sarcastically. Her left hand began to sensually knead the helpless, struggling captive, bound and gagged naked in front of her’s perfect right ass-cheek as she continued leaning in to make sure her captive heard her clearly over her own muffled, worthless protests.

She waited until she had Tracer’s attention, caught a few moments after she spoke as Tracer postponed her own verbal activities, anxiously awaiting what Widowmaker would say, her hands still trying in vain to reach her captor’s and fight them off.

“As your mistress, it means that I own you completely, my sweet, foolish girl.” continued Widowmaker, placing extra emphasis on the hard f-sound as she spoke. Relishing in the rampant confusion on Lena’s face, she moved her hand across the apex of her new toy’s perfectly curved right ass cheek, poised for her next verbal delivery.

“And as _ma petite chienne,_ you are nothing but my little dog.” as the words hit her ears, Tracer tried to process them as best she could in the subdued panic she was in. Mistress? ‘Little dog’? What was that supposed to mean? She was one of the best pilots in the world and a key agent of Overwatch, how could she ever become a ‘little dog’ for the former Amelie Lacroix, now a nebulous assassin?

But then again, how could she go from trying to stop an assassination to being tied up on Widowmaker’s bed, stripped naked and utterly helpless, with a silk scarf forcibly gagging her mouth as her adversary of only the prior night played with her very-much-private, thank-you-very-much ass with impunity?

A mere moment after Widowmaker finished speaking, Tracer got part of her answer as she felt a now-familiar slender index fingertip press gently against her tight rear entrance, all her muscles tightening up as a reflex against the unexpected intrusion. This had the unfortunate side effect of pressing the feminine French hand, attempting to make an entrance, between both of Lena’s toned, full ass-cheeks; something her captor did not mind in the least.

“Now.” said Widowmaker, matter-of-factly to the girl before her, in as much of a compromised, subjugated and helpless position as was ever possible, clenching her asshole shut as she felt that fingertip sit on its entrance, pressing gently.

“I will explain what happens next.” she finished as she slowly removed her right hand from her _petite chienne_ ’s mouth, noting the sweat and no small amount of saliva that soaked her palm. She deftly wiped her hand dry on the side of the scarf filling Tracer’s mouth, before bringing her hand to rest on the exposed right shoulder laying before her, her left hand still threatening Tracer’s entrance.

“…hmmnhmmn…” Tracer whimpered quietly, her hands and feet still as she tried to find Widowmaker’s face in the room, eyebrows arced pleadingly as she tried all she could to prevent her most private of areas being violated.

As she lay expectantly for Widowmaker’s next words, her mind tried to conjure up an image of what _ma petite chienne_ looked like.

There was nothing to see - but Widowmaker was sure to change that very soon.


	3. Lena Oxton, petite chienne in-training: 2080 - Present

Widowmaker’s intruding fingertip continued to press against Tracer’s clenched hole, moving in tiny circles against the resistant opening. She continued for a few moments, taking in her helpless captive’s nervous, whimpering moans, and how her toes curled towards the soles of her feet before she spoke again.

“These ropes that hold you are just temporary, _ma petite chienne._ ” purred the newly-crowned mistress, placing extra emphasis on the last three words in her sentence. As she spoke, Widowmaker’s right hand slid down Lena’s right arm to the four neat coils of black rope binding her delicate wrists.

She grasped the knot holding her toy’s wrists together between her thumb and all four fingers, lifting it and the wrists it controlled a few inches up in the air, prompting Lena’s fingers to form into light fists as thoughts rushed through her mind. Is this it, she wondered? Will she untie me?

Raising the bound brunette’s wrists slightly higher, forcing a quiet grunt of discomfort from her, Widowmaker held that position for a few moments more as she saw the subtle changes in Lena’s upper back and shoulders. Such beautiful skin, she thought, taking special note of the slight change in her prize’s muffled whimpering.

Tracer had always looked so alive and beautiful when she was hopeful, anxious to move onto the next thing and run ahead. But as the former Amelie had noted many years ago, to her, the spunky ex-pilot looked even better when her hope and pent-up energy was turned around against her.

“Of course, I will have to use something more… _permanent_.” dryly remarked Widowmaker, as if it was simply a fact of life. She gently bit her bottom lip for a moment as she drank in the scene she knew was playing out in her lovely little slave’s head at that moment. Tracer’s sudden silence, quickened breath and subsequent succession of muffled, high-pitched whines said it all.

Whilst she enjoyed the scene before her, the sultry French assassin drew her intruding finger slowly down from Tracer’s threatened rear entrance across the gap between that private opening and her most private of all - her warm, beckoning, and Widowmaker suspected - still virgin - sex. Stopping between the two before slowly drawing her extended finger, along with the rest of her left hand, upwards as she caressed the left side of Lena’s soft ass-crack.

Bringing her muffled plaything’s wrists down to just above their original position, the former Amelie let them land with a soft thud on Tracer’s lower back as she caressed her left ass cheek once more, even going so far as a gentle squeeze with her fingers splayed wide, prompting a muffled, subdued squeak from the nervous girl in her power.

Sliding her hand lovingly from the ever-so-inviting, perfect ass in front of her, Widowmaker took a step back for moment, turning to her left and bending down at her knees. She was sure Lena would enjoy the sight of Widowmaker’s own long, elegant legs and plump, shapely round ass pushing against her tight jeans. But, that would have to wait for another time.

The small door of the vintage wooden bedside cabinet opened with a slight squeak following one smooth pull on the brass handle from Widowmaker’s left hand, the other resting on her knee. As the door swung outward, her eyes, keenly attuned to identifying targets in the field, wasted no time in picking out exactly what she wanted, staring back at her with a barely noticeable metallic glint under her bedroom lighting.

Her right hand wasted no time in reaching in, soon joined by her left as she pulled out four pairs of custom-made bondage cuffs, two sets in each hand. Black leather cuffs three inches high, held together by dull silver rivets and topped off with a dark purple trim formed pairs by the dull silver chains holding them together with their thin but well-made links, clinking gently together.

On hearing the small succession of metallic clinks behind her, Tracer tried to orient herself a little better to see what was going on. Her few moments of struggle were in vain as Widowmaker returned to her side, looking down on her as she imagined a lion looks down on its next meal. Her heart raced and her face, though she didn't think it was possible, flushed even more than it had been ever since she woke up bound and naked in a stranger’s bed.

As she looked up at the exquisite, deadly woman standing over her, Tracer felt nothing short of overwhelmed, physically and emotionally. Part of her knew she should scream and shout, thrash and kick against her bonds until she was released. But another part of her felt cowed and uncertain, a side of herself she hid with her bravado and tomboy antics.

She knew Amelie, in those days on Gibraltar, had seen it in her as well. And she was getting the feeling that the woman Amelie had become, standing over her, holding four sets of carefully made and coordinated cuffs complete with chains, knew it very well. Lena gulped as she waited for Widowmaker’s next words, her breathing heavy but not panicked as she felt her mouth grow dry from the silk scarf muffling her words.

“These will be yours for quite some time, _ma animal de compagnie._ ” As she spoke, Widowmaker took three pairs of cuffs in her left hand, reaching over Tracer’s bound form to place them with a gentle thud on the bed next to her captive, resting to her left side atop the silk sheets. 

A feminine thumb and forefinger held the fourth pair up at Lena’s eye level, just under a foot from her face as the cuff spun gently in one direction, then the other, showing all the detail and care put into it’s construction. - not to mention leaving nothing to Lena’s imagination.

Lena’s eyes followed it twirl almost melodically in front of her, taking in all of its detail. The leather was genuine, soft and well-treated whilst the chain and fastenings, though understated and feminine in their design, were unmistakably strong. Staring at those formidable bonds, Tracer knew that she had even less chance of breaking free of them than she did the ropes she had failed to overcome thus far.

The bound, naked and helpless ex-Overwatch agent let out a whimpering sigh as she looked up towards her captor’s face, only able to glance up to the top of her neckline, Tracer’s eyes taking in Widowmaker’s slender, model-like midsection hidden underneath her fashionable French turtleneck. Lena’s eyebrows arced up once more, pleadingly, as her whimpers continued gently into her gag.

“Now, let us begin.” Widowmaker brought the pair of cuffs in her grasp up to her chest, straightening them out and unfurling each cuff fully before bringing each cuff down slowly and deliberately to meet Tracer’s soft, lightly-freckled skin. An open, unfurled cuff rested upon Tracer’s toned, athletic arms - but not quite where Tracer had expected, as she lay with her eyes straining to try and get a view of what was going on, not daring to try to jerk her head.

The pair of cuffs rested just above Lena’s elbows, their weight, though light, was still unnatural to the helpless girl they were about to be applied to. The metal rivets holding the cuffs together and the short chain, around 5 inches in length, connecting them sent a twinge of cold up her spine as her skin immediately began warming them. Suddenly aware she was going to be even less mobile in the very near future, Tracer inadvertently let out another muffled whimper, a little louder than before.

The cool-skinned assassin wasted little time in applying the cuffs, her slender fingers working quickly to wrap the first cuff around Lena’s left arm just above her elbow. She methodically tightened the straps affixed to each cuff into the corresponding small metal buckle, settling on a level of tightness that left Tracer without any pain but where she knew the cuffs were holding her captive and were in no danger of moving around. 

The exquisitely-made cuffs drawing her elbows closer had another effect on Lena’s shapely body that Widowmaker knew her captive wouldn’t fully appreciate until she was rolled onto her back. They forced her chest outwards, making her succulent, perky peach-coloured breasts all the more prominent and inviting. Tracer’s new owner knew that was far too delicious to pass up.

Within moments, the first of the set of cuffs had been applied to the helpless plaything Widowmaker had made for herself, the once proud Overwatch agent lying defeated, bound, gagged and naked on her bed, whimpering gently to herself as she was slipped further into bondage and subjugation. The former Amelie tested her handiwork by lifting the cuffs, and the arms they held in tight bondage, a few inches above where they lay.

The uncomfortable change in position once more prompted a slightly anguished grunt from behind Lena’s gag, this time followed by a mewling sigh. Widowmaker let her arms land with a soft thud as she reached for another set of cuffs, the sound of the pile of thin chains clinking against each other as she did so hitting Tracer’s ears as clear as a bell. She braced herself as best she could for what she knew was coming next, resigned to her imminent bondage.

Widowmaker firmly placed the second pair of cuffs on Tracer’s forearms, proceeding to slide them down a few inches so that the cuffs touched the top of the four perfect coils of rope holding her toy helpless. Her slender fingers again worked quickly to buckle each cuff around Lena’s delicate wrists, then as she had before tightening them without pain but so her captive knew she was very much bound. Permanently.

“Did you think I would untie your wrists _before_ shackling them, _ma stupide petite chienne?_ ” spat Widowmaker acidly, the sarcasm dripping from every word as she spoke. She felt another small shred of hope Lena had nurtured in her mind slip away as she listened intently to the quiet, anguished whine from her bound toy’s perfect gagged lips. 

Those same feminine fingers, trained over and over to pull a trigger, that had just tightened Lena’s new bonds set about, a mere moment after again binding her wrists, to undoing the neatly-applied rope that first held her helpless. With a few choice pulls on the knot, it unfurled instantly and fed into Widowmaker’s left hand as her right pulled it through, soon leaving nothing but a light red rope mark on Tracer’s wrists to show it had been there.

Lena writhed her hands as best she could in small circles, now unused to the feeling of not having the rope bind them tightly. Her tiny taste of what she now considered freedom was short-lived as Widowmaker deftly slipped the cuffs further down, the top of the cuff now barely separated from the base of Tracer’s hand, as she tightened the cuffs one extra notch to firmly hold them in place. 

The chain holding Lena’s wrists in tight bondage stretched only an inch and a half in length, deliberately shorter than the one pulling her elbows closer together, uncomfortably as she felt the increased strain on her toned, flexible muscles. Silently, Lena pulled briefly against them, trying to force her wrists apart. Much to Widowmaker’s satisfaction, after a fruitless moment of struggle her wrists landed with a soft pat, the short chain holding them jingling quietly as her toy’s hands balled themselves up into light fists in futile protest.

“We are just beginning, _ma petite chienne._ ” purred Widowmaker devilishly, the tip of her tongue flicking out for a split second to glide across her top lip like a hungry diner sizing up a well-cooked piece of prime rib. She took in the view before her of her most recent handiwork, the two pairs of cuffs holding her captive beauty exactly where she wanted her, those toned and firm arms useless to stop Widowmaker exploring every inch of Tracer’s delightful body.

As Widowmaker admired her captive’s bound form, Lena squirmed uncomfortably against her bonds, letting out light grunts intermixed with concerned whimpers, both rendered unintelligible by her firmly applied gag. She knew it was just the start before her newfound mistress had reminded her, and her mind could only think of one thing as she lay helpless, naked, bound - more permanently than before - and gagged.

What on Earth would happen to her next?


	4. Lena Oxton, shackled and silenced naked plaything: 2080 - Present

As the two pairs of cuffs applied moments ago made their presence felt on Lena’s upper arms and wrists, her new owner reached over her well-constrained body to acquire the next set of restraints, identical to those binding her wrists. As Widowmaker lifted them to her own chest, the now-familiar clink of the chain holding the pair together sailed into Tracer’s ears.

A stifled wail tried to escape Lena’s lips, finding limited success against the thick cloth filling her dry mouth. How had it come to this, she wondered, as she lay naked, bound and gagged, being shackled by her arch-enemy further and further as she lay helpless to stop her. The second she felt those cuffs be firmly placed on her calves, she knew what was next.

Widowmaker smiled inside as she saw Tracer’s toes curl gently, unsure what to do with themselves as she slid the third pair of cuffs down the comely pair of legs bound in front of her, laying straight and flat on her bed. Just as with with her reluctant doll’s wrists moments ago, when the cuffs touched the elegant coils of rope around Lena’s ankles, Widowmaker tightened and buckled both cuffs in place with one smooth, precise motion.

There has to be a way out, Tracer thought, part of her mind desperate to burst free and run as fast as she could from the woman forcing her further and further into enslavement. She began to panic once more, her breathing quickening as Widowmaker’s slim fingers easily flicked the rope knot apart from her ankles, quickly removing it entirely from Lena’s body.

As the rope was precisely coiled by Widowmaker’s skilled hands and deposited with its brethren to the left of Tracer’s powerless frame, thumping gently onto the bed sheet, the securely-bound ex-pilot knew the cuffs would soon be slid down to fully cover her ankles, stripping her of the very last chance she had for escape. In a moment of panic, she bent her legs back as hard as she could at her knees, her legs kicking wildly against her bonds as she shrieked into her gag.

“MMHNNPHM!!” yelled Tracer incoherently, clenching her eyes shut in her moment of resistance. She sobbed to herself, slightly audibly even as she continued to put on her tough face, shouting and flailing as best she could against her bonds - but she knew it was over before it had any chance of succeeding. Her heart sank, a lump forming in her throat.

With her cat-like reflexes and unusual strength for someone of her build, Widowmaker had easily reacted to Tracer’s hasty, futile resistance before Lena herself knew what she was doing. Before her petite chienne’s legs could even bend to ninety degrees, the former Amelie landed some of her weight against her captive’s calves, pushing them flat once more to the bed with her forearm. 

All that was left for Tracer was to wiggle her feet and toes impotently, making progressively quieter verbal protests, shouts giving way to frustrated sobs as she felt Widowmaker’s weight force her back into place.

“Ah ah ah, how naughty. Mauvais petite chienne. Mauvais!” Continuing to lean atop her soft, shapely plaything as she spoke, still forcing Lena’s legs to lay flat, Widowmaker brought her right hand up to her own shoulder-height, her fingers together side-by-side. On her last word, she brought them down sharply against Tracer’s right ass-cheek, her hand curved to strike that bubble of kissable flesh with her palm and fingers.

“HNNMMHFFF!!” Widowmaker’s short, sharp smack forced a loud, surprised squeak from Tracer who immediately felt the stinging sensation the microsecond that elegant hand had slapped her exposed ass. She whimpered, raising her head as best she could and continuing to clench her eyes shut, her best plan so far for escape - pathetic as it was - burnt to ashes.

“Mauvais! Bad!” The first smack was followed up by two more, each in time with Widowmaker’s acidly-spat pronouncements of contempt for her plaything’s fruitless attempt to defy her. Each prompted a pained squeak from Tracer, more concerned with where she was being slapped than the small, stinging pain itself.

Waiting a few moments to absorb Lena’s sobbing whimpers, music to Widowmaker’s ears as they filtered through the scarf she had forced into the younger girl’s helpless mouth and coming out the other side as mere incoherent noise, she pulled her weight off of Tracer’s calves and proceeded to adjust the ankle cuffs to their proper position, then tightening them fully into place as she had with her toy’s wrists.

“It seems you need some extra training, ma petite chienne.” Pondered Widowmaker, her mind already made up as she returned to the bedside cabinet, reaching to the back of the top shelf with her right hand, followed promptly by her left. She stood back up, placing the newly-collected toys gently just beyond the tips of Tracer’s bound feet. 

Lena gulped with dread, trying desperately to calm herself down as her ass-cheek pulsed with light pain following Widowmaker’s judicious application of her palm. She fought against her own anguished sobbing, verbal but still no tears, which she thought might be something to be proud of given her situation. After a few moments, she managed to constrain herself to quiet, inadvertent moans each time she exhaled, her lips pressing hard against her thick gag.

“Let me teach you your first trick, ma petite chienne: roll over.” Widowmaker said commandingly, awaiting an action from Lena that never came. Her younger captive lay confused, eyes open as she wondered exactly what the command from her self-appointed new mistress of less than a day meant. Sadly for her, Widowmaker was in no way short of coercion techniques.

After a few moments passed, with a sarcastic sigh still tinged with her heavy French accent, the former Amelie reached over her captive and collected the last pair of cuffs - noticeably larger than the others in length, to accommodate a thicker body part - and placed them with a clink of their chain with the other items she had just positioned by Tracer’s feet.

“Do not tell me you are this stupide, ma petite chienne.” Exhaled the beautiful assassin, placing her right hand firmly on Tracer’s right shoulder before gripping it tightly, fingers splayed. Her left hand grasped her captive’s upper-left arm, and with a concerted pull the two began to turn Lena over on to her back. As she realised what was happening, the bound brunette leant her limited assistance, using her hips and shoulders to pivot herself in accordance with Widowmaker’s wishes.

After a brief moment Tracer lay on her back, her body uncomfortably pressing on her hands and bound elbows as they lay beneath her. She had oriented her neck and head mid-roll such that she was now facing up at the ceiling, her eyes immediately focusing on the blue-skinned lady pulling herself back up to a normal standing position before looking down at Tracer once more, her purple lips held in a shape equally mysterious, condescending and seductive.

“My, my… Baring your breasts like that, ma jouet?” Widowmaker bit her bottom lip teasingly as she leant down over Tracer’s protruding chest, forced to jut out by the elbow cuffs, as she turned her head to look her plaything in the eye. 

It took a moment for Lena to realise what the powerful woman holding her helpless meant, but as she looked down her helplessly bound form she let out a wavering note of discontent, her head shaking side to side as best she could as she held her captor’s gaze.

“Ma salope femme.” whispered Widowaker bewitchingly. Tracer squealed, followed by more incoherent, muffled protests as she saw a slender, feminine left hand, its cool blue skin and purple nail polishing contort into a pinching posture, thumb and forefinger extended as it descended towards her exposed left nipple. 

Widowmaker firmly planted her right hand, fingers tightly together, over Tracer’s gagged lips once more, the bottom of her hand butting up against Tracer’s nose as she did so. This had much entertainment value for the domineering hit-woman, as it not only muffled her prey even further, it let her feel those soft lips writhe under her palm once more as well as forced Tracer’s head back, depriving her of a view of what was to come.

As her right hand enjoyed that soft, creamy, lightly-freckled flesh it pressed firmly against, feeling every moan and grunt as it passed partly through Tracer’s gag, her left was in no danger of missing out on the fun. It hovered just a hair above Tracer’s pert, round breast, rising and falling with each breath in and out, waiting patiently for its own turn to sample Lena’s flesh.

“Ah, in English, that means… how do you say, slut.” spat Widowmaker seductively, her fingertip and thumb gently pinching Lena’s helpless, perky nipple as they began to rub it, still gently, back and forth between themselves. A high-pitched squeak, muffled by Lena’s gag and Widowmaker’s own firmly-applied right palm, accompanied the contact of finger to nipple, followed by sulky, mumbling protests at being called a slut. This is hardly my first choice, thought Lena, if anything more angry at the insult than the molestation.

Widowmaker’s hand slid smoothly down Tracer’s breast, fingers splayed as she extended her elegant fingers, grasping lightly almost the entirety of the pliable, round protrusion of delicious, creamy skin. To emboldened protests from the subjugated toy in front of her, she proceeded to slowly and sensually grasp Lena’s bountiful breast tighter, who responded by alternating between louder attempted verbal resistance - she had learned her lesson for now about physical resistance, at least - and confusion deep inside her mind.

As she felt Widowmaker’s unmistakably feminine hands proceed to grope her bare, defenceless breast, she felt a distinct and unfamiliar tingling spread throughout her body. Sure, she had been touched there before - but only by one boy in her pilot-training school, where it just didn’t feel right, and by herself - many, many times, though she would never admit it.

She would especially never admit that most of those sessions of self-love had been driven by sensual thoughts of the woman her powerful, feminine French captor had once been.

“We shall have to train you to speak French, ma salope femme.” teased Lena’s owner, holding the young pilot in total domination. Widowmaker was herself very much enjoying not just the feeling of Tracer’s supple, pert breast in her hand, and not just the writhing, perfect pink lips between her other palm. What entertained her the most was what she could feel was happening in Tracer’s mind once again as the enslaved ex-Overwatch agent began to grow quieter, partly wandering into a daydream.

“Ah, of course, you will not be speaking. You will obey commands, ma petite chienne.” As she spoke, Widowmaker slowly drew her hand up and away from Lena’s breast, teasingly letting her fingertips come together to a point surrounding her plaything’s newly-stiffened nipple. A light pinch followed, gripping the stiff little nub as she lifted it gently a little away from Tracer’s breast, holding it for a moment before releasing it to the chorus of subdued wails she was so fond of.

Pulling her right hand away from those precious pink lips, slowly and deliberately, Widowmaker turned to take a half-step down the length of the bed, positioning herself in line with Tracer’s knees. The defeated ex-pilot, her future now looking certain as a bondage slave rather than flying any more experimental fighter jets around the skies with exhilarating abandon, lay uneasily, not yet daring to bring her head up and try to see what was going on.

As Tracer tried to gather her thoughts after yet another reality-challenging experience, Widowmaker wasted little time in reaching for her next item of interest, from the small assortment laying just beyond Tracer’s feet on the bed.

A small, suggestive smile made it’s way across the blue-skinned beauty’s deep purple lips.

She knew her salope femme wouldn’t expect what was coming next.


	5. Lena Oxton, helplessly enslaved and fondled salope femme: 2080 - Present

“Knees up.” commanded Widowmaker, her words accompanied by a tap to the side of her reluctant plaything’s left knee as she spoke. To her amusement, after a brief moment Tracer grunted lightly, arcing her back as she pulled her knees up, bent at forty-five degrees as the subjugated tomboy’s cute little toes scrunched into the bedsheets, the soles of her feet flat against the bed supporting her bent legs. Her back slowly straightened back to where it was - as comfortable as it could be when she was laying on her bound wrists and elbows.

“Perhaps there is hope for you yet, ma petite chienne.” smirked Lena’s dominating captor, a mixture of classic, elegant French beauty and hard, precise military training combining to form a woman who began to seem to her captive more like a force of feminine nature than a mere woman. Widowmaker brought that last pair of cuffs, bigger than the rest, up to her chest as she promptly unfurled them.

Tracer knew what was coming next. Those restricting leather cuffs would soon be placed inescapably on her firm, yet soft skin, holding her in this bondage even tighter than before, shrinking any chance of escape even smaller than it was now. The chain holding them together would clink against its own links and then land, cold and hard against her flesh, prompting a momentary shiver as her body heat flowed into the confining metal.

Lost for a moment in her own thoughts, Lena heard the telltale clinking of a thin, solidly-made chain just over her head. She focused her eyes to see only the short chain, dangling from Widowmaker’s index finger and thumb of her left hand, wavering slowly as it hung without cuffs attached to either side. Puzzled for a moment, the bound brunette mumbled a question into her gag as she watched the chain spin gently.

With a flick of her wrist, the former Amelie landed the chain a foot past Tracer’s head on the bed sheets with a muted thump. As the helpless ex-pilot again tried to pose a question, again turned to incoherent, muffled tones by her thick gag, Widowmaker turned back to the pair of toned, firm runner’s-legs bent upwards in front of her.

In one quick, well-practiced motion Widowmaker took the first of the now-separated cuffs in her left hand, applying it with little delay firmly to Tracer’s shapely left leg. The cuff found it’s home north of her captive’s knee, waiting to be tightened into place. Both captive and captor knew if this newest set of cuffs were chained together, as the three previous pairs were, Lena would be well and truly, utterly immobile - as if she wasn’t already.

Lena’s toes dug into the bedsheets a little more, seeking a foothold as she pressed down firmly with her heels. She had a premonition that were her legs to deviate from the position her self-appointed owner had commanded, she would quickly feel her stinging palm again on her ass, her exposed, stiff-nippled breast, or worse.

In a mere moment, Tracer’s left leg was firmly cuffed, just above her knee, pressing tightly against her soft, toned thighs. The extra length of this pair of cuffs was necessary to accommodate those inviting thighs, looking to Widowmaker as if they had been sculpted just for her pleasure by some divine artisan. Just as before with her wrists, upper-arms and ankles, a second cuff joined Lena’s right thigh seconds after, smoothly applied and buckled with expert dexterity, joining its sibling in tight bondage.

Where this set of cuffs differed, however, was that there was no chain, thin and feminine yet undeniably strong - much like the azure-hued dominatrix forcing Lena deeper and deeper into slavery and submission - holding them together. Not that Lena would complain if her thighs weren’t also chained together, of course, but by now she knew to expect something more from what had become of the woman she once cast longing glances at across the mess hall.

“Now, spread these, ma petite salope femme.” purred Widowmaker, her right hand caressing the outside of Tracer’s right thigh as she made contact with that delicious, kissable flesh fingertips first, her palm joining them as she draw her elegant hand across that comely leg until it met Tracer’s knee. After a moment of quiet, confused and anxious whimpering permeating Lena’s gag, Widowmaker delicately slid her fingers further, placing them firmly against the inside of Tracer’s knee, her palm facing the leg her hand had just danced across.

“Do not make me ask again.” said Widowmaker icily, her lips subtly pouting as her eyebrows lightly furrowed in a show of displeasure at her subservient’s lack of immediate obedience. Her sensitive, feminine fingers pressing against Lena’s legs felt her captive begin to give way, slowly and waveringly beginning to spread her legs to a chorus of pleading, sobbing whines.

A contemptuous sigh left the former Amelie’s lips, serving only to speed up Lena’s reluctant, anxious progress as her legs slowly opened, now showing a gap between her thighs wide enough to clearly see her warm, recently-unshaven sex, adorned with short, brown hair. The restrained tomboy, ever more aware of her dry mouth, thanks to the thick gag forced into it, breathed deeply as she continued to slowly and nervously part her legs.

However, Tracer’s slow, anticipating leg-spreading, it’s style reminiscent of a first, uncertain, hopeful reveal on a third date did not match her much more experienced captor’s idea of a little dog spreading her legs following her mistress’s command. Widowmaker promptly withdrew her right hand from gently pushing Lena’s legs apart, brought it up to her own shoulder height, fingers tightly together, and brought it down rapidly with a stinging, fingertips-slap to meet Lena’s quivering left breast, striking sharply on her stiffened nipple.

“MMNHFF!!” Lena squeaked pointedly at the sharp sting on her sensitive, succulent breast, her muscles tightening at the sensation all over her body. Unfortunately for the subjugated ex-Overwatch agent turned bondage slave, this had the effect of tensing her legs such that they moved closer together again, even to the extent of obscuring her unshaven sex.

When she realised her inadvertent defiance of Widowmaker’s wishes, Lena pleaded meekly into her gag, holding herself tense as she hoped her captor hadn’t noticed her legs closing. She shook her head side to side as best she could, begging her imprisoner not to interpret her involuntary spasm as a slight, or as intentional opposition.

“Cochonne petite pute!” Widowmaker spat with noticeable, though contained, irritation. Forcibly returning her right hand to Tracer’s right knee, she easily pushed her ensnared prize’s shapely right leg against the bedsheet, gripping her knee tightly with splayed fingers as she did so. To accommodate the change in position, Tracer’s right foot was forced to swivel under her left, its side now the point of contact with the bed sheets as a pained grunt from Lena accompanied her hip adjusting involuntarily to her leg’s new position.

“Mhmmnphhm!” whined Tracer pleadingly into her thick gag, interspersed with strained grunts as her body adjusted to its new forced position. Her ankle cuffs swiveled under the pressure, the chain pulling them in rotation slightly around her coerced anklebones. Her left leg felt Widowmaker’s weight leaning down upon it as the older lady reached with her left hand for one of the items just beyond Tracer’s feet.

Still forcing Lena’s right leg to lay its side against the bed sheets, still bent at forty-five degrees, the domineering assassin’s purple nails dug into Lena’s soft skin, sure to leave a temporary red mark as her prey squirmed and squeaked pleadingly. Widowmaker’s left hand promptly grasped the object she sought, bringing it expeditiously between her plaything’s now forcefully-spread legs.

Lena felt the object, dense, cold and long, hit her inside left leg with a soft slap. It was a thin, black pole, of solid metal construction, 16 inches in length and adorned at each end with dull silver clips matching those which held the chains to the other pairs of cuffs holding the anxious, oppressed girl in tight serfdom under the overpowering woman who was forcing her into a new, revealing position.

Widowmaker wasted no time in putting the pole to work, pushing one of its extremes to the right cuff binding Tracer’s thigh with her left hand before her right pushed off from Lena’s knee to clip the pole easily into place. The bound salope femme’s mind raced with fear and anticipation as she felt the newly-mounted pole press against the inside of her thigh through the cuff, as her body’s new ruler proceeded to address her left leg, quivering uncertainly as more pleading, useless moans escaped Lena’s perfect gagged lips.

With an effortless exhalation, the sound of condescension apparent even in the wordless breath pushing past those plump, gorgeous French lips, Widowmaker put her weight on top of her left forearm, forcing Tracer’s left leg down into the same position as her right by applying pressure to the inside of her left knee. In a fraction of a moment, her right hand clipped the bar conclusively in place, fastening it solidly to Lena’s left thigh cuff just as it was to her right.

Holding her weight on the younger, helpless girl’s leg for a moment, Widowmaker gave the bar a small tug to ensure her handiwork had its desired effect. She was not disappointed as this small application of strength yielded no movement from the bar, and prompted a procession of sobbing squeaks once more from her increasingly frustrated personal damsel-in-distress.

Satisfied and once more fully composed, the blue-skinned beauty straightened herself up, taking her weight off of Lena’s hopelessly bound body as she looked down at the results of her latest addition to her powerless plaything’s bonds. All Tracer could do to resist the bar holding her legs well and truly apart, presenting her exposed, beguiling slit to anyone who happened to see was to rock her hips slightly left or slightly right, sobbing gently in frustration into her gag. Still without tears, her muscles tried all they could to force her legs back together to no avail, grunting quietly as she strained.

In Lena’s truly compromised position, enslaved still further and objectified, her uncovered sex on display, presented like a piece at an art show, Widowmaker looked down upon her with the manner of a teacher scolding a student for refusing to do their homework. Tracer’s ineffectual hip movements side-to-side, and her attempts to bend the bar holding her on display by sheer force of her thighs, lessened with each passing moment as she realised more and more just how helpless she truly was.

What she didn’t yet acknowledge as she pondered her first forced foray into being an object for sexual display, is that when looking down from above at her newly-exposed - or rather, purposefully presented - most private of areas, not just her provocative opening and its slightly unkempt surroundings, nor just the underside of her plump, round ass-cheeks were visible, her weight pushing their curves a little more outward than when she was lying on her stomach.

The exaggerated spread of her legs, courtesy of the pole and cuffs separating them, also coerced the left and right lips of her flushed sex to part a small amount as well - just enough for Widowmaker’s sensitive nose, trained to detect gases or explosive substances whilst on operations, to identify the unmistakeable yet unique scent of Lena Oxton.

It would be a few moments before Lena realised this herself, but it didn't matter. Widowmaker inhaled in two short, savouring breaths through her classically beautiful nose, the first smells of her luscious - if slightly unkempt down-below - pet’s most private bouquet.

A devilish smile crossed Widowmaker’s lips as she returned to her normal breathing, noting Tracer’s continued subdued sobs and grunts, her plaything’s leg movements having turned weak and listless as Lena lay with her eyes closed, her eyebrows arced pleadingly.

Widowmaker’s next area of interest on Tracer’s delectable body was not difficult to choose.


	6. Lena Oxton, subjugated and restrained for sexual display: 2080 - Present

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Nelzebeth for French translations!

“Tsk tsk tsk.” tutted the supremely confident, blue-skinned dominatrix standing over her prey, the thoroughly-bound and muffled ex-Overwatch agent whom she had finally captured just hours earlier. Her tongue clicked disdainfully inside her mouth, her full purple lips parting slightly to let out the sound as it flowed from her mouth to Tracer’s ears, overpowering Lena’s own melody of anguished whimpering.

“..nmmhph..” mumbled Lena quietly, opening her eyes as she looked up at the woman she had once known, once longed for, then once chased across rooftops to prevent an assassination, and who now stood in total control of her body and her future.

Her own control of those things had been overthrown, first by Widowmaker’s combat skills, then her sleeping drug, and finally by the four pairs of cuffs shackling Lena soundly in place, topped off with the thick, now very wet with saliva, scarf pulled between her lips, stuffing her mouth and turning all of her words into nothing more than useless moans.

“First, you disobey an order from your mistress…” began Widowmaker, her tone changing from matter-of-fact to incorporating airs of sultry sexuality as she spoke her last word, her lips pushing out teasingly as if ready for a kiss, her head tilting mockingly to the side as she oriented herself into Tracer’s gaze, their eyes meeting in an embrace that made no secret of their roles.

“And then, you present me with this offrande négligée?” continued the former Amelie, unmistakably the director of the situation, ending in a tone equal parts quizzical and slightly offended. She brought her slender, feminine finger to her chin in a pose that looked as if she had sarcastically asked one of the great philosophical questions of her time, narrowing her eyes slightly. Lena held her gaze, silent save for quiet, inadvertent whimpers with every other breath out.

“I am talking about your neglected offering, ma petite chienne.” Lena stared silently into the former Amelie’s eyes as her captor’s words hit her. As they sank in, the bound brunette once more pleaded with the woman imperviously standing over her, shaking her head side to side and letting out a prolonged, exhaling whine, wavering in tone as she pleaded using her eyebrows once more, arced up as she begged.

“Why must you insult me, not just with your disobedience…” Widowmaker continued, deliberately talking over Tracer’s futile protests as the younger captive silenced her wailing pleas by the time the third word left her captor’s sumptuous lips. The devious assassin, eager to make her point once more with the help of a physical aid, held Lena’s gaze as she moved her left hand into position, fingers tightly together again, palm facing her pet’s exposed sex.

“…but also with this unshaven chatte?” Her hand snapped into action at the conclusion of her vixenish sentence, leaving Tracer with no need for a French-to-English translation. Widowmaker’s slender, womanly hand pressed firmly over Lena’s forcibly-presented most-private opening, engulfing her sex with her cool, soft palm.

Her fingertips rested on the sumptuous skin between Lena’s vagina and her formerly-threatened rear entrance, curling lightly to gently grasp the warm, pulsing organ. The base of her elegant palm pressed lightly down upon her plaything’s mons, feeling the soft texture of Lena’s skin mixed with the roughness of her short brown pubic hair. Widowmaker felt Lena’s most intimate heat spread rapidly through her hand, warming her as she listened to her captive’s quickened breathing and panting, desperate moans as she felt Lena’s hips spasm gently against her hand.

Still holding her gaze, Widowmaker proceeded to gently but firmly knead the area in her grasp, her left hand pressing on the full length and width of Lena’s inexperienced sex. She bit her bottom lip once more teasingly, looking intently at the narrowed eyes of her stimulated toy, Lena’s cheeks growing even redder as nothing but wordless gasps with a tinge of pleading escaped her gag.

Slowly drawing her hand up Tracer’s sex and back down, only moving a fraction of its length but making every bit of it felt by pressing firmly down against the younger girl’s most sensitive area, Widowmaker knew exactly which spots to concentrate on. The soft skin and bone at the base of her hand effortlessly found its way from Lena’s mons to atop the lips covering her clitoris, before slowly moving off it once more. Each time she did so, she noticed the gentle hip spasm and slightly louder gagged gasp it prompted from the delicious young girl, completely under her control.

As her hand pushed gently but firmly against those soft, welcoming lower lips, opening minutely wider with each rub, Widowmaker knew she didn’t want to go that far yet. Tracer had a way to go before she was worthy of the pleasures the dominating French beauty could bestow upon her - but a tiny glimpse served the former Amelie’s purpose well.

As she drew her hand away, agonizingly slowly from her petite chienne’s eager sex, she noticed with great pleasure the sight of Tracer pleadingly arcing her back up for a brief moment, trying in vain to press herself against that sensual palm once more, still gasping wordlessly into her gag.

With Tracer’s back returning it to its former, un-arced position, Widowmaker drew her experienced hand up to her nose, twisting her arm such that the inside of her wrist faced her nose with her hand cocked back at ninety degrees, as if she were about to file her nails. She brought it an inch closer to her nose and breathed in two short, sharp currents of air, both thick with the scent of Lena’s anxious sex. A contented smile flashed across her lips for a moment as she soaked in that sweet, luscious scent.

Widowmaker took great satisfaction in studying Lena’s gorgeous face at this moment, flushed a deep pink with rich, full pink lips tightly grasping her toy’s thick, black scarf gag. From the look on her captive’s face, eyes now half closed, head laying back as she held her gaze, Widowmaker knew the former hero was begging for more than just release from her bonds. The ambrosial smell soaked into the skin of her palm told her that Lena was also pleading for release of a different kind.

Once again, in her own way, Widowmaker had released hope and energy inside Tracer, even if that hope was now channeled towards begging for carnal release. But she knew, to fully dominate the spunky young plaything bound in front of her, to make Lena truly realise how utterly powerless and subservient she was in Widowmaker’s slavery, she had to break her a little more, pushing her further into servitude in service of her captor’s pleasure.

To that end, Widowmaker broke eye contact with Lena as she leant over towards the bound girl’s feet, grasping the largest remaining item there with her whole hand. Tracer stared wordlessly at the ceiling, panting gently into her gag as the item landed next to her head on the bed sheets, with a soft bump and muted jingle. Tilting her head to the right, she saw a tangle of familiar leather, finished in the same style as the cuffs so securely binding her.

Widowmaker stepped briskly around the corner of the bed, near to Lena’s head. She stood over her tightly-bound slave, tilting her head down to look directly into Lena’s face before taking her right hand and placing it firmly against her energetic young prisoner’s left cheek. Before Tracer had time to think, the hand pressing on her cheek forced her head back to a neutral position, facing upwards, where she met her captor’s impermeable yellow-eyed glare.

Holding her hand still on Tracer’s cheek for a fraction of a moment, so she could be sure of her full attention, Widowmaker pulled her right hand away as her left hand was applied to the back of Tracer’s head, gently pushing it upwards, a wordless order with which Lena complied, bringing her chin almost to the smooth, peachy skin covering her collarbone.

As Lena held her head and neck in their new position, to her surprise she felt the former Amelie’s fingers slip dexterously between her smooth, short brown hair and the thick, black silk scarf that had been wedged into her mouth, parting her lips what seemed like forever ago. With a few deft flicks of her wrist and slender fingers, Widowmaker untied the knot holding the gag in place, letting it hang loose across Lena’s cheeks.

Reaching forward with her left hand, a gentle pull with her index fingertip informed Lena that her mistress wished for her to put her head back once more flat against the bed sheets. She ably complied, her warm, shapely mouth on stand-by to rehydrate itself after what felt like an eternity of dry, thick cloth stuffed inside it with the express purpose of keeping her as silent as possible.

Holding Widowmaker’s gaze with wide, hopeful brown eyes, Tracer held her breath as she felt Widowmaker’s hands grasp opposing ends of the folded scarf before smoothly lifting them upwards, pulling the wet wad of thick silk, still formed into the unflattering shape Lena’s desperate mouth had forced it into, out from between her teeth and away from her lips.

Widowmaker took both ends of the dripping garment-turned-gag and flicked her wrist dismissively, the bundle of cloth landing with a muffled wet thump on the bed sheets further down.

Lena joyously opened and closed her jaw, surprised at the lack of soreness and writhed her lips and tongue around inside her mouth to cure the stifling mouth dryness she’d been subjected to. In this brief period of what she now thought of as freedom, part of her shouted victory.

Widowmaker, the woman who had just enslaved her, must have just had a change of heart. Why else would she have taken out Tracer's gag? It was only a matter of time before the cuffs came off and she was free once more. This feeling bubbled up inside her like a rocket taking off, and unable to control herself, she spoke to her captor intelligibly for the first time since King’s Row.

“Oh Amelie, I knew you’d change your mind. You d…d…” Lena trailed off abruptly, her bubbly London accent transforming to nervous stutters as she realised what the object that had been placed next to her head was, courtesy of Widowmaker holding it directly above her face with that exact intention. She focused on the intricate object with wide, disbelieving eyes, her lips parted in surprise and internal horror.

The object dangling over her was certainly shaped from the same unyielding black and purple-trim leather that had formed her cuffs, complete with the same rivets holding it together. Where this particular instrument of subjugation differed, however, was its complexity and what was at its centre.

Even as it held still in Widowmaker’s grasp, Lena’s anxious eyes struggled to capture all of its intricacies. Three dull silver rings, a buckle like that of the cuffs, and no less than seven straps hung from this intense arrangement, all in service of the dark purple ball at their centre. A ball that looked far, far too big, once Lena's mind, racing a mile-a-minute, realised where it was intended for. She began to let out an involuntary, high-pitched whine before she was immediately cut off.

“Shut up.” spat Widowmaker pointedly, emphasizing each word as her left hand holding the harness ballgag she had so longed to use on the mouthy little tomboy by its firm, slightly-oversized rubber ball, its straps and rings held above it by her grip, lowered it towards Tracer’s lips.

Knowing what Lena would attempt next, Widowmaker’s right hand roughly grasped her prey, palm-to-chin, not just holding her facing upward but gradually forcing her jaw to open as well as her nails dug painfully into the younger girl’s comfortable skin.

“NNHHH! NO! NNHFFF!!” Tracer yelled in the brief moment of verbal opportunity she had before clenching her lips tightly together in resistance to the impending purple rubber ball, that looked to Lena as if it would be far too big to fit into her mouth. Her protest was cut short as the ball pressed hard against her mouth, forcing her lips apart and pressing against her teeth as she furrowed her brow angrily, thrashing in vain against her other bonds with little resultant movement, much to her captor’s enjoyment.

Widowmaker pressed harder, the ball pushing painfully against Tracer’s mouth as she continued to resist. Far from growing tired with the show but wishing to make it very clear to her petite chienne who exactly it was that controlled her body now, the former Amelie Lacroix, elegant and mysterious object of Tracer’s desires during their time back on Gibraltar, grasped her prize’s jaw tighter and forcefully pried it open with her right hand’s powerful fingertips and thumb.

Lena felt tears welling up inside her as her jaw was methodically and roughly forced open on two fronts, showing her how utterly ridiculous her feelings of triumph a mere few moments ago had been. She grunted and strained in resistance for a few more moments, but her captor was simply too strong. Every small gain Widowmaker’s right hand made by forcing open Lena’s jaw was filled with the solid rubber ball until it reached its apex, halfway in her mouth, forcing her jaw painfully wide open as her teeth dug into the barely-yielding rubber.

Widowmaker concluded Lena’s short, fruitless struggle by once more completely dominating her. She easily forced the ball fully inside Tracer’s warm, wet mouth, past her perfect lips and past her teeth, holding her jaw uncomfortably open even once fully inside as the thick rubber filled her mouth, her tongue held still as her lips wrapped around the outside of the ball, taking on part of its shape as the contrast between those edible coral-toned lips being forced to conform to the larger mass of deep, firm purple rubber reflected the pattern of the relationship between mistress and slave.

As the ballgag was fully forced into Tracer’s mouth, she found herself unable to even move it herself with her tongue, such was it’s size and firmness. Her jaw felt stretched open wider than it had ever been, and the feeling of the leather strap which ran through the ball and pressed against the skin at the sides of her mouth, joined at each of its short extremes atop Tracer’s cheeks to a dull, silver ring at each end compounded her newly increased bondage.

“…blmmnhfff hnnmmffhmn…” Tracer sobbed quietly, now having to adjust to sounding even less intelligible thanks to this much more-effective gag filling her helpless, desperate mouth. Showing the fortitude developed through her own training, though they were welling up inside her more than ever before, she still resisted letting tears escape her beautiful, brown eyes.

Once more reduced to a speechless slave, bound and helpless with her most private areas on display for a woman who had seemingly unlimited ways to push her deeper and deeper under her control, Lena stared fearfully at what she could still see of the mass of straps about to be applied to fasten the thick rubber ball inside her mouth.

Permanently, as she was sure Widowmaker would remind her.


	7. Lena Oxton, “Nmmhmnfff mmnmhffm”: 2080 - Present

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Nelzebeth for French translations!

Tracer grunted with discomfort as her captor wasted no time in applying the next strap, also connected at its own extremes to the dull silver rings resting on Lena’s cheeks. Its firm leather ran from the bottom of those burdensome pieces of metal, across the underside of the ensnared damsel’s jaw, pressing tightly against that soft, yielding flesh. 

In a fleeting moment, the robust leather strap was pulled firmly against Lena’s skin, the pressure on the underside of her jaw forcing her tongue upwards slightly, making even less space inside her mouth, already filled with the thick, rubber ball. Lena’s squeak of displeasure at this new sensation was music to Widowmaker’s ears, though her face didn’t give this away. 

The commanding feminine heiress to Lena’s enticing, athletic body proceeded to push her pet’s head up once more, chin - or now, chin-strap - almost touching collarbone as Widowmaker roughly forced her slave’s head into place, accompanied by a loud, discontented groan as the helpless ex-pilot grew ever-more frustrated at her increasingly difficult predicament.

With her free right hand, her left pushing the back of Lena’s head into position with her palm, fingers grasping the younger girl’s smooth, brown hair lightly, the former Amelie dextrously grasped the longest part of the next arrangement of straps. It was a length of leather considerably longer than the others, joined to a third metallic ring that found it’s place just between Lena’s visibly irritated eyebrows.

The embittered captive looked up at the strap coming down to meet her forehead, flinching her eyes closed as it landed on her face gently. As the dull silver ring it was connected to pressed gently onto her skin between her eyebrows, Lena felt the presence of the two smaller straps which kept the ring connected to the other two rings already applied atop her cheeks.

The lower part of this third, and most unwelcome, ring was joined by two straps, each connecting it immovably to the ring on their side of Tracer’s flushed, increasingly discontented face. With this arrangement, the three rings formed a triangle between them, the bottom line of which was the strap running through the ballgag tightly filling Lena’s mouth.

The other two vertices of the triangle were the two most recent straps, each of which sat just to the side of each of Tracer’s eyes, not obscuring her vision but just inside her field of view on both sides. Those constraining lengths of leather pulled firmly against the bound brunette’s cheeks, with the whole arrangement or straps and rings making firm, restricting, though not painful impressions on her skin.

The longest strap, joined to the top of the third, binding ring, was not destined for Lena’s face. Widowmaker took the length of that particular strap in her left hand, letting it run through her fingers until she grasped it an inch from its final extreme. She promptly pulled the strap back and over the top of Lena’s head, pressing down upon and parting her helpless plaything’s glossy, short chestnut hair.

“Gghnnmmghnfff!!” Lena clenched her eyes shut as she shouted, feeling the strap make solid contact all the way to the back of her neck, more enclosed and enslaved than ever. Her jaw writhed with what little movement it could manage against the plump ball filling her mouth and parting her lips, reducing her frustrated protest to nothing more than wordless, incoherent gibberish.

A condescending, scornful sigh left Widowmaker’s lips as her left hand easily resisted her disapproving toy’s half-baked attempts to move her head side-to-side, simply taking more of that sensitive brown hair between her fingertips, prompting a squeak of pain from Lena, clenching her eyes shut further. 

Once the longest strap was pulled firmly to the back of her captive’s neck, Widowmaker continued the activity of inescapably, permanently reducing the former ex-pilot to a speechless, humiliated slave, buried deeper and deeper under layer after layer of physical and psychological bondage.

Letting the extensive length of leather pulled over the top of Tracer’s head hang for a moment, now that it had been firmly pulled into place, Widowmaker showcased her speedy, effortless dexterity, honed through intense combat training on disassembling weapons and explosive devices. 

In less than a second, she had continued to coerce Lena’s head into place by switching her left hand’s position such that the back of that slender, feminine palm pressed against her captive. At the same time, her right hand and the fingers of her left hand grasped the final two straps, those hanging loosely from the pair of rings impressing upon Lena’s cheeks with their cold, unyielding presence.

Like a master watchmaker, Widowmaker efficiently applied her trained fingers in service of her goal, pulling the straps tightly into place as they pressed against the frustrated brunette’s cheeks. This prompted more muffled, useless resistance, but it didn’t matter. Within a single instant, the two straps were buckled together, fastened by the same type of solid, reliable arrangement that had secured each cuff in place on Lena’s body, 8 separate, humiliating times.

Both mistress and slave knew what would follow a fraction of a second later. Returning her left hand to its previous position, tufts of Tracer’s hair between her fingers, Widowmaker gave the strap running from her plaything’s forehead to the back of her neck a final, definite tug before smoothly and certainly buckling it into place where the other two straps met at the back of Lena’s delicate, feminine neck as it joined the base of her head.

As she felt the concert of leather and metal force the undeniable, irresistible purple ball of subjugation fully and immovably in place, filling her mouth as her velvety pink lips were forced around it, Tracer opened her eyes to look into those of the woman dragging her deeper and deeper into such demeaning, sexual captivity that Lena never knew existed. 

Knowing that all of this - the 8 pairs of well-made, firm leather cuffs and their binding chains, the impregnable bar forcing her to present her teased, laid-bare sex, and the intricate, uncompromising menagerie of leather, metal and rubber that forced her into helpless silence - oh, and not to forget the fact that she was stripped completely naked lying on a stranger’s bed - was just for the amusement of the woman who stood over her, looking down condescendingly like she was training a puppy not to do its business on the carpet was too much for Lena.

“FFNNMMHFF HMMNPNMH!!” the powerless young girl screamed, her mouth, lips and tongue struggling absolutely fruitlessly against the securely-applied gag dominating them. Lena’s eyes widened as her brow furrowed furiously, her breathing heavy as she let out her growing frustrations at being turned into nothing more than a piece of sultry amusement for her one-time enemy. 

Though clouded by rage as she attempted to speak, a tiny piece of her reminded herself that this woman was also her one-time object of affection from afar, her heart pounding as her pert, bountiful breasts rose and fell with each angry breath.

“You are humiliating yourself, _ma chienne pathétique.”_ spat Widowmaker glibly, taking a few moments to admire the network of straps and rings binding Tracer’s beautiful face in inescapable bondage. The shape her lips took around that dark purple ball, filling her mouth, was the most pleasurable of all to admire for the blue-skinned assassin turned mistress.

She stepped around to the side of the bed once more, now facing Lena’s left side and acting as if she was ignoring Lena’s increasingly fierce attempted verbal protests, but taking note to memorise every ounce of emotion in those words, filtered into useless nothingness by the harness ballgag turning the former energetic, carefree tomboy into nothing more than Widowmaker’s personal doll.

“This will be a little more difficult for you now…” teased the French beauty, gently tugging on the solid bar fixed between her plaything’s legs, enough to gently force Lena’s legs up by her thigh cuffs a tiny distance, giving more ammunition to her frustrated, unheard protests.

“But let us try your trick again. _Roll over, ma petite chienne._ ” As she spoke, Widowmaker’s right fingertips pushed commandingly against Tracer’s exposed left shoulder, from the side and slightly below, physically suggesting, as she just had verbally, that the helpless young captive roll over onto her stomach. It was met with a dismissive, highly-restrained push back against those fingertips, Lena moving the tiny distance against those slender French fingers as her bonds would allow.

The former Amelie’s lips pursed with now semi-visible irritation as she breathed out, her eyes narrowing at the enslaved bitch before her who still refused to obey her commands, laying bound, gagged and naked, presenting her bare sex but still refusing to simply _roll over._

“So you wish to do this _a la dure,_ the hard way?” snapped Widowmaker contemptuously. She roughly reached over Tracer’s bound breasts, her forearm brushing atop that left mound of succulent flesh as her left hand roughly grasped her disobedient pet’s right shoulder. In concert, her right hand grabbed Lena’s left shoulder, and utilising unnatural strength for someone of her build, Widowmaker began to twist Lena’s torso, her right shoulder up and her left shoulder down, forcing the younger girl to roll over.

“HNMMNPPHM!!” Lena thrashed as best she could, her shoulders exhibiting their limited movement against her captor’s rough handling and her hips rocking fruitlessly side to side as she felt her body once again being forced into a new, unwanted position. She shook her head violently side to side, a small fleck of saliva finding its way from the side of the ball filling her mouth to her cheek, sliding a short distance across that flushed, smooth skin before coming to a stop.

Within moments, Tracer’s torso was uncomfortably contorted as she tried in vain to resist her former lust interest’s far superior strength. Over as far as she could go, Lena how having to twist her neck all the way to her right to angrily shout muffled protests at the woman who had made her nothing but a helpless, bound plaything, she felt Widowmaker’s weight land on her own contorted right shoulder through her palm and spread fingers, roughly forcing her down.

Wordlessly, Widowmaker reached across with her left hand and forced her slender but formidable fingers between the cuff bound to her disagreeable pet’s right thigh, to Lena’s great displeasure as she felt those expertly manicured purple nails dig against her skin. With two short, sharp pulls, the blue-hued beauty forced Lena’s legs and hips to follow her torso, accompanied by more boisterous, angered protests from the bound, helpless _femme_.

Lena lay once more on her stomach, her frustration building as she was forcibly repositioned to lay flat by Widowmaker’s expert hands. Her shoulders were straightened, her knees were forced to remain bent at forty-five degrees as they had been when laying on her back, and the renewed jingles of the chains holding the spunky ex-pilot in her tight bondage were nothing more than fuel to the fire of her growing anger.

Her head lay facing to her right once more, cheek against the bed sheets with her chin almost able to touch her right shoulder as her neck once again had to become accustomed to the strain on its muscles. With eyes wide open in anger and a furrowed brow, Lena yelled more incoherent, muffled protests into her impenetrable gag, forming only useless, wordless groans and grunts to the world outside her head.

Once she was satisfied with the position of her new property - that property, of course, being Lena Oxton’s delightful body, shackled and gagged in such a way that the younger girl never imagined possible - Widowmaker returned to the end of the bed, standing once more above Lena’s head, in line with her writhing, highly-appealing body, chains jingling lightly as she struggled.

“It seems you require special measures, _non?_ ” Widowmaker asked pointedly, her last word not so much a question to her captive as it was a means of placing emphasis on her entire statement. Lena’s gorgeous mistress bent immediately at her knees, bringing her face level with that of her protesting pet, who was purposefully turning her own face away.

Widowmaker’s right hand reached forward, her left resting on her knee, and grasped a thick handful of Tracer’s smooth chestnut hair. She was sure she had her pet’s full attention when this brought an end to those loud, pathetic shows of attempted verbal resistance, and especially when she slowly but roughly pulled her captive’s head up by that same hair to meet hers. In an instant, that furious, never-say-die attitude sat below the surface, taking a back seat to Lena’s obvious concern about what would happen to her next, and the pain in her scalp.

“Remember, _ma petite chienne_. You brought this on yourself.” Ending her sentence with a kissable pout from her own perfect, purple lips, Widowmaker drew her left hand up from below Tracer’s field of view and clasped it gently around her prey’s throat, applying gentle pressure not to prevent Lena breathing, but merely to show her who was in total control of her body now.

“Gllummphh…!” Tracer gurgled in surprise into her gag at the feeling of those strong, slender fingers meeting her throat. Though she could still breathe normally, as Widowmaker was merely placing her hand upon her throat at this stage, this fact did little to calm Lena down, who’s brow returned to pleading desperately, her eyes begging those of the woman holding her totally under control.

Widowmaker’s plump lips returned to a contented, devious smile, pleased at the reaction her little show of force and intimidation had on the spunky _petite chienne_ she was now training.

As she held her captive’s gaze once more, she couldn’t wait to reveal to Lena something that she knew her precious plaything hadn’t yet realised about the new gag fitted firmly in her begging mouth.

It was going to be so very delicious, thought Widowmaker.


	8. Lena Oxton, manhandled and ballgagged doll: 2080 - Present

"...mmnhmff..." pleaded Tracer meekly, her scalp stinging as her short brown hair was used by Widowmaker's right hand to force her head into position. She stared fearfully into the piercing yellow eyes looking deep within her, seeing more than Tracer had ever wished to reveal to the dangerous assassin, though not as much as she had wished to reveal to Amelie years ago.

Widowmaker tightened her left hand's grip on her nervous plaything's soft, feminine neck by a tiny fraction, still only lightly grasping her young captive but tight enough to make her point, feeling every breath and heartbeat from Lena through her own sensitive skin. As she felt that minute tightening, Tracer squeaked into her gag, forcing what the dominant French beauty was waiting for with much anticipation to happen.

"Get used to feeling something here, _ma petite chienne_." Said the former Amelie teasingly, her lips caught midway between alluring pout and vixenish smile, narrowing her eyes piercingly. As she spoke, she had even more reason to smile as she felt the results of Tracer's involuntary exclamation a moment before. A bead of warm saliva ran steadily down Lena's chin, followed by a thin, steady flow following the same path, running over the helpless girl's perfect lower lip, forced into place as it was by the thick, purple ball filling her mouth.

"...nmmnmmh!?" Tracer whined with a surprised tone as she felt the flow of warm, smooth liquid begin down her face, her mouth having become nothing more than a source of amusement for Widowmaker, who eagerly watched the first bead of drool run down her pet’s chin and neck until it landed on her own left hand, gently pressing against Lena's throat. 

Arcing her eyebrows pleadingly once more, Lena let out a meek, humiliated whine as she realised there was nothing she could do to stop the degrading flow of her own drool down her body as she lay helpless, bound and gagged, her present and future quite literally in Widowmaker's hands, the blue-skinned beauty obviously enjoying every single moment.

Tracer tried in vain to suck the flow of saliva back up into her mouth, and prevent any more from escaping. Her failure to retain even the basic dignity of not drooling on herself provoked a succession of high-pitched, anguished sobs, her eyes welling up once more as Widowmaker slowly licked her lips, the warm flow now rolling across the back of Widowmaker's hand and proceeding down the rest of Lena's neck.

"I see you have found one of my favourite things about your new gag.” Smirked Widowmaker, lathering herself in the moment as she felt a piece of Tracer’s pride and self-respect ebb away as the flow of warm saliva ran down between Lena’s breasts. Looking into her beautiful, anguished captive's eyes, she knew the bound brunette was holding back tears, lest she not be able to stop if started.

"You certainly hold back those tears better than your saliva, _ma petite chienne baveuse_." Smiling once more as she spoke, Lena's new owner leaned in close enough to kiss her prey as the helpless ex-pilot sobbed, ashamed beyond the limits she had thought possible only a day before, not just at her continually drooling down her own helpless, silenced body, but that her captor had so easily seen through her tough facade to the frightened young girl below.

"...Mmnmmhmfff..." The bound, once-proud ex-Overwatch agent wailed in despair and protest as the next stage of her captor's devious plan to deconstruct her into Widowmaker's personal plaything, nothing but a toy to be used for whatever her owner desired, progressed. Widowmaker’s mouth lay within a hair of Lena's lower lip, her deep purple tongue slick with her own oral juices as it flicked out from between her plump, gorgeous lips, its tip making unexpected contact with her slave's chin.

Planting its tip right on the path of Lena’s warm, wet drool, the former Amelie's tongue paused for a moment to be sure she had the full attention of her recently-acquired property before continuing. Lena's skin felt the warm, soft muscle, responsible for all of her captor's cruel, degrading words, make its first contact with her own soft, sensitive skin. Just as she realised what was happening, it began slowly sliding upwards, over Lena's feminine chin and gliding inexorably towards her gagged bottom lip, absorbing the trail of sweet drool as it went.

"Plmmnfff..." Even though she was forcefully bound, a deadly assassin's sexual captive, unable to stop her advances or even from drooling on herself, Tracer knew she had to try and say something. As she smelt the enticing fragrance the former Amelie, saw her as close as she could be and felt her feminine yet dominating presence even through her warm, wet tongue, Lena felt a part of herself longing for the release it had been aching for since that slender, feminine hand adorned in blue skin had pressed so rhythmically and intimately upon her sex.

Letting out a quiet, contemptuous exhale, Widowmaker's tongue continued its slow, agonising advance towards Tracer's sumptuous bottom lip, lapping up her plaything's involuntary drool and savouring the taste of her delicious peach-coloured skin as she did so. She felt Tracers breathing become heavier, much to her amusement as her tongue reached the lower border of Lena's quivering bottom lip.

Lena's sex was in control of her once again, overwhelming her mind with its powerful, carnal influence. This was no longer a dangerous woman holding her against her will, turning her slowly piece by piece into her helpless, permanent bondage slave. This was the Amelie she had always wanted, tongue teasingly making its way towards her waiting mouth.

Opening her mouth wider and tilting her head back ever-so-slightly, the one-time Lady Lacroix used the tip of her tongue to its greatest effect, slowly, deliberately licking over the waiting Lena's anxious, gagged lower lip, prompting a lustful gasp from behind her gag as the beautiful older woman's intimate touch traversed the short, hypersensitive distance from the bottom of Tracer’s trembling, pink lower lip until it reached the smooth, oppressive ballgag keeping the newly-enslaved, sexually-charged ex-pilot near-silent.

Tracer's eyes fluttered shut as she looked upwards moving only her eyes, her body quivering lightly as her desperate sex amplified Widowmaker's already sinfully delightful touch. Unaware of anything else in that moment, even her bonds or the hand on her throat, Lena's sex pulsed with desire and begged every part of her for release, the release she had yearned for all those years ago as she cast secret glances across the room at the long-legged woman sitting by herself.

Pausing with her tongue having reached the full, purple ballgag filling Tracer's mouth, Widowmaker took in every detail of her delicious little plaything. She knew exactly what was going through her at the moment, and exactly where as she watched Lena's fluttering eyes, the girl before her totally overcome first by rope, then by embarrassment, and now by pleasure.

In a snap-second, Widowmaker pulled her tongue back behind her pillowy lips. Before her stimulated pet could react, Lena's mistress pressed her own bottom lip to just below Tracer's, its soft, yielding texture and warmth sending the younger girl into another burst of lust prompted by her pleading sex. With her top lip pressing softly against that now-familiar purple ball, a wide, devilish smile spread across Widowmaker’s lips as she bit Lena’s lower lip firmly, pulling her own head back gently, bringing her plaything's lip with it by half an inch.

"...Uggnnhh!" It was all too much for Lena, her hands banging up and down pleadingly against her own plump, round ass and lower back, her hips gyrating against the bed as she desperately tried to get herself off, begging for any kind of release, her bondage making it utterly impossible without Widowmaker's blessing. The younger girl closed her eyes tightly, her sex burning hotter than ever for the release it craved so badly.

Without warning, Widowmaker released her intimate grip on Tracer’s lip, pulling her head away as that perfect, gently-bitten piece of pink beauty landed softly back in position against Lena's ballgag. Waiting a few moments for her overwhelmed little puppy's eyes to reopen, Widowmaker’s face sat back a distance from Tracer's, much to the younger girl's disappointment as she fixed her half-lidded gaze on her captor’s lips, laying bound, gagged and naked, flushed and gasping lustfully.

"Ah ah ah..." teased Widowmaker, her head tilted sarcastically to the left as she spoke. Tracer held out a tiny thread of hope for her imminent sexual release, her _chatte_ forcing her to keep that hope alive for her own sanity as she stared pleadingly into her caustic owner's unnatural yellow eyes once more, anxious at the condescending, beautiful face looking back at her.

"How transparent, _sale petite pute."_ Lena's heart - it's most basic, animalistic side, begging her body for a climactic sexual release her bound, subjugated body was totally incapable of fulfilling - sank as she digested her mistress's words, proof undeniable that she would be waiting even _longer_ to experience what she craved. Her hands writhed in frustration against the constricting cuffs on her wrists as her pleading sobs gave way to frustrated protests, muffled as always by the very effective gag filling her mouth and causing her to drool uncontrollably down herself.

Like a dog, Lena caught a part of herself thinking. A helpless, desperate dog, begging its master for what it cannot fulfill itself, unable to retain even basic dignity. Lena snapped out of this train of thought a moment after she realised it was happening, surprising her consciousness that even a part of her was thinking this way. All the while, her sex burned and pulsed for an unrequited climax, constantly playing on her mind as she grew increasingly frustrated.

Smiling internally at her plaything's moment of self-doubt, more evident on her face than the young captive realised, Widowmaker slowly, deliberately released her grip from Tracer's neck, with no visible marks left behind. Offset by a few seconds, her right hand steadily released its grip on the tufts of smooth, chestnut hair between its fingers. Lowering her plaything’s head as she did so, Lena's left cheek rested once more atop the sheets as she felt the straps and ring on the right of the harness ballgag, forcing her into her new life as a speechless slave, pressing against her soft cheek.

"FFNMMNFF!!" Lena squealed in anger and anguish into her gag, drool now pooling under her left cheek and soaking into the sheets as it ran down her face, from the point where her top and bottom lips met at the left side of the purple ball holding her tongue still. Her hands formed tight fists, banging up and down as best they could in their severely limited range of movement, thanks to her cuffs, against her hopelessly bound body.

Quickly and forcefully, Widowmaker's right hand forced pressure down upon the right side of Tracer's head, the base of her palm pressing hard against her plaything's forgiving cheek as her extended fingers pushed down upon Lena’s smooth brown hair. After an initial application of force, Lena's powerful mistress applied more in a second jolt of pressure, pushing her head against the bed uncomfortably.

“ _Ta gueule!_ ” snapped the former Amelie icily in her heavy French accent, noticeably irritated as her sharp words bit at Lena’s ears like a coiled snake. Twisting her grip as she moved, forcing Tracer's head to move partially with it, Widowmaker abruptly stepped back to Tracer's side, roughly grabbing the chain binding Lena's wrists with all the fingers of her left hand before pulling it upwards in a sudden jolt, high enough to force her toy's flexible body to uncomfortably adjust to the increased pressure on her back and shoulders with a short twinge of pain.

After a few moments accompanied by a displeased exhale, Widowmaker released the chain from her grip, allowing Lena's wrists to land on her back once more with a dampened thud of leather meeting flesh, prompting a grunt on impact from the still angry, though partly-subdued girl under her control.

The former Amelie held her hand in place on Lena's head, pressing down her hard, the bones of her hand being felt by her frustrated plaything’s soft skin for a few moments more. With her captive still emitting subdued, frustrated moans, Widowmaker released her pressure on Lena’s head and turned to her left once more, towards the bedside cupboard from which she had produced the cuffs and harness ballgag, as well as the two smaller, as-yet unused items laying beyond Lena's bound feet.

Wasting no time, Widowmaker’s actions quickened compared to the last time she had produced an instrument of Lena's enslavement from that same cupboard. Her intention this time was much clearer, though not entirely apparent to her plaything, as Lena lay pushing in vain once more against her bonds as the pool of saliva grew under her cheek, bringing her irritation to boil.

The telltale metallic clink of a length of chain filled the quiet room, overpowering the captured ex-pilot's pathetic protests. In an expedient, well-practiced motion, Widowmaker wrapped the chain around her left hand, her right winding it neatly over its sibling. Within a mere moment, the blue-skinned beauty stood once more at Tracer's side, her hands now cradling a length of chain around three feet in length, festooned at each end with clasps the same as those attaching the shorter lengths of chain to their respective cuffs.

With the first clasp held ably between her left thumb and forefinger, the feminine assassin’s right hand roughly, painfully grabbed another, larger handful of Lena's hair, wasting no time in pulling back in a smooth, violent motion, forcing the helpless girl's head back, Lena’s whole upper back and neck arcing as her head was held in place facing forward, to a chorus of pained squeals from the bound brunette.

Lena shouted into her gag as she began to realise the trouble she had created for herself after her latest sexually-frustrated protests. As she felt the new length of chain's metal clasp meet the arrangement of straps at the back of her neck holding the harness ballgag firmly in her mouth, Lena let out a panicked shout, muffled into wordless nothingness by the rubber filling her mouth.

Clicking the first clasp firmly into place onto one of the strap buckles, Widowmaker now had the back of Lena's head, shake though the young captive might in a mix of fear and protest, attached to a thin length of chain around three feet. Applying her honed, dexterous skills, the blue beauty fed the length of the chain into her right hand from her left, releasing her grip on Lena's hair. Her right thumb and forefinger now held the clasp at the free extreme of the chain, as her increasingly nervous plaything wailed another muffled plea.

Wordlessly, Widowmaker continued her work. Extending her left hand to grasp the chain connecting Lena's ankle cuffs whilst simultaneously pulling on the chain attached to her insolent captive's harness ballgag, forcing a pained squeak from behind that oppressive marriage of leather, metal and rubber as Lena braced herself for what might come next.

Pulling those bound, feminine ankles up and towards Tracer's midsection, forcing the helpless ex-pilot’s lower back and hips to adjust to their new position with some discomfort, Widowmaker quickly attached the free extreme of the length of chain to the smaller length binding Lena’s ankle cuffs together. The sound of the metallic clasp clicking securely into place pierced Lena's mewling squeals at her new, even more securely-tied predicament, her body even more helpless to resist Widowmaker’s designs than even mere moments ago.

Now held in place by the unforgiving, immoveable chain, Tracer’s tears welled up once more as she tried to pull her legs back down to their previous position, her thighs lifted slightly off the ground by the chain as her hips, torso and chest took all of her weight. She sobbed gently in frustration as her struggle served only to pull back on her head, testing her toned, athletic muscles as they were pulled into the shape of a pig about to be spit-roasted.

“This is what we call a hogtie, _ma petite chienne._ ” scorned Widowmaker, tugging the taught chain gently, to increasingly loud sobs from her totally helpless captive. She let the chain fall back to where it was, held tight and straight by the pull from Tracer’s ankles and head. The former Amelie knew the muscular discomfort Lena was forced into by the new addition to her bindings was a distant second to the total helplessness washing through her slave’s mind, Lena’s sobbing joining with her frustrated squeals as she pulled fruitlessly against her own body, desperate more for sexual release than freedom.

Widowmaker felt Lena’s anguish and frustration building and building as she writhed on the bed, her legs pulling uselessly against the unbreakable chain whilst her sex tried with what tiny movement it could muster to grind against the bed sheets, striving for any kind of stimulation. She knew that Tracer’s body yearned for nothing more than her sultry touch, to slide inside her and finally give her the release she desperately needed.

But she also knew that the totally, inescapably bound ex-pilot’s mind, when not overwhelmed by the power of her primal, animalistic urges, still boiled with anguish and anger at her situation, her conscious mind refusing to pledge herself to her captor in exchange for sexual relief even as her body willed her to with all its might. 

The battle between the two ranged inside the struggling captive, a battle in which Widowmaker was all too willing to arm both sides.

“Does this make you upset, you useless whore?” spat Widowmaker sarcastically, deliberately avoiding the use of French so she could be sure Lena understood, her acidic tone forcing a volley of furious yells from behind Lena’s gag, once more turned into useless, muffled moans by the rubber ball between her lips. However, the blue-skinned dominatrix also noticed that despite her protests, her pretty plaything did not stop trying to grind her sex against the bed, uselessly.

Having lit the next fire inside her deliciously anguished slave, Widowmaker paused to take in the concoction of emotions flowing from the helpless young beauty in front of her, all the while noticing the stream of drool, now thick and constant, running between those pert, peach-coloured breasts.

The battle had just begun. And Widowmaker knew that she, rather than either side of Lena, would be the ultimate victor.


	9. Lena Oxton, hopelessly hogtied and horny: 2080 - Present

“…fmmnnmmff!” groaned Lena between frustrated sobs, closing her eyes tightly as she struggled to force back her building tears once more. Her bound body pulled sporadically against her bonds, serving only to cause her to rock slightly back and forth as Widowmaker’s latest insult permeated her mind. As she lay, permanently and immovably bound, her sex driving her closer and closer to madness in its desperation for release, a part of her mind clung on to the vision of herself as that bubbly, dynamic pilot, flying through the skies with superior skill.

Not, as the new owner of her body had described her, as nothing more than a _useless whore_.

Taking great pleasure in seeing Tracer’s curvaceous body pulled up into shape tightly in complete bondage, but even more so in lapping up all of her plaything’s confused, pounding emotion, Widowmaker paused for a moment by Lena’s side. As the younger girl struggled pathetically against her bonds once more, the former Amelie turned once again to her left, taking a step forward and bending down at her knees. 

Her left hand reached in first, followed swiftly by her right, collecting all the remaining contents from the bottom shelf of the bedside cupboard. Standing up promptly as she pulled them to her chest, Widowmaker dropped them gently from a short height near the head of the bed as they landed with a soft thud accompanied by a muted metallic jingle. Two objects and a small, black case lay upon the bed sheets, making a gentle, soft impression with their weight.

“Still holding back those tears, _ma petite chienne?_ ” sighed Widowmaker, turning her attention to the two smaller items she had left just beyond where Lena’s feet extended on the bed before the most recent additions to her bindings. The dominant assassin plucked both from the bed up to her chest height, between her thumb and forefinger, straightening them out briefly before looking down at Lena’s pert, round ass, her plaything’s bound hands resting in tight fists upon that soft, enticing flesh.

In Widowmaker’s delicate, yet powerful grasp were two dark purple leather bags, each only small enough to comfortably fit an apple. The fabric was tough and solidly stitched together, though the inside of each bag consisted of a smooth, silky lining. At the opening to each bag was a simple drawstring, allowing the entrance to be quickly and securely cinched tightly shut.

“Let’s see if we can’t make them flow, _ma petite esclave_.” teased the former Lady Lacroix with a sultry smirk across her plump, purple lips. As she spoke, she let the first bag rest on Lena’s toned, soft upper-right thigh, taking the other in her own left hand. Widowmaker’s right hand grasped Lena’s bound right wrist firmly, making contact with her skin just above the restrictive cuff. As the helpless captive’s small, feminine hands were already formed into their own tight fists, her captor wasted little time in slipping the first bag over her right hand, those frustrated digits quickly enveloped by the leather and its soft inner lining.

“Nmmnmmhphhmn!” Tracer tried to turn her head as she felt her right hand slip easily inside the bag, only causing a small tug against her own ankles thanks to her strict hogtie. She tried in vain to force her eyes far enough to the right to figure out what was happening to her body now, after everything that had been applied to her so far in service of transforming her into Widowmaker’s helpless slave, to touch and mock for her own amusement. Before Lena could try to move her bound wrists, for what little good it would have done, it was too late. She felt the drawstring tighten around the base of her hand, just above the limit of her cuff.

The helpless ex-pilot’s hand writhed uselessly inside the bag, forced into a light fist by its confines. Her skin wasn't roughed by the smooth interior, but as her hand grasped at nothingness she felt another little piece of her freedom slip away. Part of her had kept a secret thought alive in the back of her mind, that if Widowmaker were to fall asleep or leave the room, perhaps she could work her hands up to her binds and release herself. Now, as she lay with her hand unable to grab the key to her freedom even if it were right in front of her, Lena let out an anguished wail.

Wasting no time, the former Amelie promptly grasped Tracer’s left hand in the same manner and simply forced the bag over the slight resistance she encountered. Pulling the drawstring tightly over her plaything’s soft, delicate hand, Widowmaker bit her own lower lip gently. She knew that every little piece of freedom she removed from Lena would push the bound brunette further and further towards what the blue-skinned beauty wanted - total submission.

“Ah, what a shame. These are as useless now as your _chatte._ ” taunted Widowmaker, lathering herself in the dejected whine her abuse prompted from Lena. She briefly wondered which stung more; the description of her hands or her sex as useless, but got her answer soon enough as she noticed with much amusement a few moments of pathetic struggling against her hand’s new confines giving away to another subdued, desperate attempt at grinding against the bed she so enjoyed watching Lena drive herself crazy doing.

Shifting her stance to leaning, bent over at the waist, above her beautiful toy, aligned to the right of Lena’s bubble-shaped runner’s ass, Widowmaker’s right hand steadied her own weight against the bed sheets. She turned her head to the back of Tracer’s, admiring her handiwork as she prepared to speak. Her left hand moved silently into position, extended index fingertip a hair away from Lena’s entrance, following it slightly with the tiny movements the desperate captive was able to make within her strict bonds.

“Tsk tsk, _ma petite chienne._ Dripping wet and still so useless.” Widowmaker’s words rolled off her tongue in her thick French accent with a tinge of fake, sarcastic sadness. The instant her words hit Tracer’s ears, before the young ex-Overwatch agent could process what they meant, she was given a very definite clue as she felt the sweet, overpowering touch she had longed for.

Widowmaker’s soft, delicate index fingertip pressed gently but firmly upon the soft skin and hair a fraction of an inch above the top of Lena’s wet, pulsing sex, her palm facing upwards. As she felt her desperate plaything tense up and her breathing quicken into short, lustful gasps, the former Amelie’s fingertip travelled excruciatingly slowly down that tiny piece of forgiving, warm flesh until it reached the top of Tracer’s lower lips. 

Feeling her plaything’s quickened heartbeat through her finger, Widowmaker proceeded further down, enjoying every minute moment immensely. Her fingertip parted Lena’s heated, slick-wet entrance and within a fraction of a moment rested pleasantly upon her plaything’s clitoris. The low, guttural moan that accompanied this from Lena told her captor everything she needed to know. Widowmaker licked her lips as if a carnivore about to consume her prey, her fingertip soaked with Tracer’s most intimate juices as she became aware of those building within herself as well.

However, Widowmaker would not allow her own awakened sex to derail her original plan for the helpless sex slave lying in front of her, bound, naked and inescapably gagged. She knew to truly fulfill her own deepest desires, she had much that needed to be done with regards to Lena, the girl who had so wanted her touch all those years ago, and was now begging for it with all her helpless might, before she could indulge her own physical urges.

Lena’s eyes fluttered impulsively at the feeling of the former Amelie’s slender, soft fingertip pressing atop her most sensitive area, her eyes wanting to roll back in her head as she lost what little control she had over herself. It was all the bound brunette could do to prevent herself from hyperventilating, every exhale accompanied by a deep, lewd moan from her throat, the stream of drool from her lips to her breasts becoming thicker as she lost any pretense of holding it back, her mind, body and soul on tenterhooks as she prayed for that intruding digit to stay.

Taking no small pleasure in her sensual activity, Widowmaker slowly, tortuously ran her fingertip over Lena’s hypersensitive nub, her pleading slave’s hips spasming as they made no secret of their deep-seated desires. Burning all-over her bound, helpless body with lust, Lena felt she could have breathed out steam were it not for the full, purple ball filing her mouth, reducing her pleas and gasps to nothing more than the pathetic gag-talk of an overstimulated slut.

The fingertip left the nub with a tiny, almost unnoticeable flick of pressure against that inviting, precious flesh which left Lena spasming further as her body took full control. Her mind, a shred of which still begged her to resist her captor, was forced well and truly into the background as Widowmaker’s fingertip continued it’s progression towards the pleading captive’s true entrance.

“Pllmmfff… Pllmnnfff…” begged Lena, her tongue driven purely by her animalistic sex, burning hot and in total control of the captive ex-pilot. A thick trail of drool ran down her neck and between her pert, succulent breasts, but she no longer cared. In this moment, Tracer didn’t care anymore about freedom, piloting, or fighting for the future as part of Overwatch. All she could think of was how she needed this release, her mind now forced into as tight bondage by her sex as her body was by her sultry captor’s cuffs and chains.

Widowmaker paused for a moment, basking in the first time she had heard her pet beg so eagerly, so pleadingly to be molested by the older French beauty. To complete her plans for the gorgeous Lena Oxton, the younger girl had not only to be physically under her control; that was easy enough, with judicious application of rope, leather and chain. 

The more difficult, and rewarding, part of what she had planned was to force the beautiful brunette into a sexually submissive mental space that was so strong, it became her plaything’s entire life. What the former Lady Lacroix needed from her pet was obedience, and in Lena’s sexually-charged gasping she saw the means to obtain it, and thus true power over her plaything. More lasting and genuine than any chain or any cuff, she set about acquiring it.

Noticing the tiny nods of Tracer’s head, as much as her strict hogtie would allow as her hips gently spasmed, Widowmaker pursued the next step of her plan with vigour. Her fingertip began to apply that same gentle, sensual pressure to the top of Lena’s true entrance, and within a moment began to slip inside, agonisingly slowly, gliding inside on a thick, smooth flow of the desperate plaything’s most intimate juices. 

Lena shuddered, her chest tightening as she felt that feminine finger finally enter her. Every tiny distance it entered further inside her prompted renewed spasms from her entire body, her shoulders and hips shaking as her bottom lip quivered against its tight gag. She could feel her sex filling with that beautiful, thin instrument of pleasure, her insides feeling every tiny detail of the former Amelie’s feminine digit.

Her finger now half-way inside Lena, Widowmaker became more and more aware of her own throbbing sex. A now-unnatural heat spread throughout the cool-skinned assassin, radiating directly from her own intimate area in anticipation. To take her mind off of her own urges, the former Amelie slowly and gently used her wrist to retract her finger from Lena’s wet hole.

With a devious smile, Widowmaker paused as her finger was almost fully retracted from her plaything’s overstimulated _chatte_. She waited to hear the pleading, gasping whines spill through Lena’s gag before continuing, did not have to wait long. Begging her captor with muffled words which she was sure were supposed to be ‘no, no please’, Widowmaker obliged.

Slowly, deliberately moving her wrist back in the other direction, towards that divine pleasure tunnel, the sultry sniper began pushing her finger back inside her plaything, bringing new life to the procession of spasms and guttural moans that had now become familiar, and very welcome.

Moving to the halfway-in point faster than before with her slick-wet index finger, as soon as it was reached, Widowmaker began to retract it once more. Repeating this wrist-driven sexual rhythm for a few moments sent a shudder of pure pleasure up Lena’s spine as her captor’s intruding finger pumped in and out of her begging, dropping-wet sex, as some of the bound brunette’s intimate fluids dripped onto the smooth sheets below.

Lena’s eyes lay half-open, rolled back as she lost herself to the pleasure Widowmaker had built her up for. Her conscious mind was a distant memory as all that mattered to her was the finger smoothly, rhythmically fucking her senseless, letting her sex take full control. The beautiful captive lay hopelessly overstimulated, lost in pure erotic ecstasy, her entire being completely devoted in that moment to the bestial pleasure Widowmaker was providing.

After a few more moments of rhythmic, sensual fingering, the former Amelie finally withdrew her wet, warm finger. She wasted no time in bringing her finger, still extended, up to her mouth, before parting her pillowy lips and plunging that instrument of pleasure between them and into her mouth, her tongue lapping at Lena’s intimate juices coating it. Widowmaker slowly drew her hand back, her finger slipping back through her lips as her tongue savoured the taste of _Lena Oxton._

“And after all that… your pussy is still quite useless, _ma petite chienne._ ” grinned Widowmaker devilishly, Lena’s distinct intimate flavour coating her tongue as she spoke. Waiting a moment for her words to reach Lena’s mind, the young slave’s overstimulation giving way to confusion and a now-familiar burning sexual frustration, driven to new heights of desperation by Widowmaker’s recently-intruding finger. Lena lay quiet, her breathing still limited to panting as her body adjusted once more.

“Allow me to explain why.” smirked the blue-skinned beauty, her tone that of a lecturer explaining a series of perfectly rational points leading to an indisputable conclusion. Except rather than language, science or the environment, this particular lecture concerned how - when, or indeed if - Lena would finally be allowed the release she craved.

It was a lecture which Lena listened to intently, as much as she could over the unbearable throbbing of her sex. She lay as silent and compliant as she could muster, her only sounds being her still-quickened breathing and quiet, gasping exhalations.

“I own you.” began Widowmaker, speaking deliberately and slowly, emphasising every word.

The depth of her designs on Lena had only just begun to be unfurled.


	10. Lena Oxton, fingered and flustered: 2080 - Present

“…mmhmmn…” Lena mumbled quietly into her gag, not even sure herself whether she was trying to communicate opposition or agreement to her captor’s statement of ownership. Her full attention was focused on every word that passed through the former Amelie’s lips, every sound crafted by her sultry tongue as the helpless ex-pilot lay in oversexed anticipation.

“Do you know what that means, _ma petite chienne?”_ as Widowmaker spoke, she lowered her left hand to just above Tracer’s round, bountiful right ass-cheek and extended her fingertips. With the conclusion of her sentence, her three longest fingers began to dance their tips across that smooth, warm peach-colored flesh, stroking her plaything gently.

“It means I own _this…_ ” Widowmaker trailed off teasingly as her left hand brushed lightly down Lena’s delicious, bubble-shaped rear until her fingertips reached the edge of the younger girl’s pulsing entrance. Feeling the increasing heat through her fingertips, the dominant assassin lifted her ring finger and separated her remaining two fingers.

“And I control _if_ it is used.” Lena shuddered in ecstasy as the delicate feminine fingertips traced down the outside of her desperate sex, one on each side, still dripping its sweet, intimate fluids from the top of her slit onto the bed sheets. Widowmaker took great pleasure in pausing for a moment to feel Tracer’s hips lightly spasm at her mere touch, her breathing quickening slightly.

Holding her fingers in position for a few brief moments, Widowmaker slowly pulled her hand away from Lena’s wet, pleading sex, taking in the near-silent whimpers of the enslaved ex-pilot as she did so. A smile of satisfaction grew across Widowmaker’s plump purple lips as it seemed her plaything had finally learned some overdue obedience.

Reaching beyond Tracer’s bound, toned legs, Widowmaker’s left hand grasped one of the items laying upon the bed sheets she had retrieved from the cupboard a short time earlier. Taking one of its leather extremes in her left hand and feeding its length through her right, the blue-skinned dominatrix wrapped the length of thin chain connecting the two thin pieces of leather around her left hand dexterously.

“You are no longer the daring pilot, or the time-traveling agent.” Turning towards Lena’s head as she spoke, Widowmaker bent down at her knees such that her face was level with and a short distance away from her plaything’s right cheek. The captive ex-pilot let out a quiet, guttural whine as she prepared for what she knew was coming next, the trail of drool continuing its humiliating flow from her gagged lips and down across her beautiful neck and chest.

Reaching the short distance forward to Lena’s toned, feminine neck, Widowmaker gently pushed the largest piece of the item in her hand to her captive’s soft, peach skin with her left hand. Wasting no time, her right hand joining it in concert to guide the thin leather band around her helpless pet’s neck. Tracer felt her heart sink a little as yet more leather was forced upon her skin, but this lasted for only a moment as her urges, both for sexual release and to not anger her new owner took over, subduing her once more.

Within seconds, the latest addition to Tracer’s enslavement was fully applied. It was a thin leather collar, in the same style as her cuffs, with a soft inner lining fitting plushly on the ex-Overwatch agent’s soft skin. The strap at the back fastened into a slim, dull silver buckle, fitting the collar firmly, though not painfully, at the base of Lena’s neck.

At the front of the collar were two additions, each designed explicitly to drive Widowmaker’s point home harder. The first was a small, dull silver tag inscribed ‘Lena’ in elegant, almost handwritten script. The second was a small metallic clip, to which was fastened the length of chain, around two and a half feet, itself completed at its extreme by a small leather loop to function as a hand-hold for Lena’s new owner.

“You are my _pet slut. Nothing more._ ” Widowmaker held up the hand-hold at the end of Lena’s new leash in front of the younger captive’s eyes, making sure she took in the sight of those blue feminine fingers she longed to have inside her holding it tightly as the older woman spoke. The muted, subdued whines eking past Tracer’s gag were a joyful melody to her captor as Widowmaker looked deep into her captive’s eyes, drinking deep in the feeling of subjugation and obedience radiating from them in this moment.

With a light tug, Widowmaker pulled gently on the leash, forcing a strained, quiet grunt from Tracer as her neck was pulled uncomfortably forward against her bonds. Lena let out a pleading, quiet moan of agreement, making it clear to her owner that she understood. Widowmaker bit her own sumptuous lower lip gently, her own sex most enamoured by this display of submission from the beautiful younger girl.

“All you are for is getting _fucked_ and being _obedient_ , _ma petite chienne_.” Feeling her own warmth spreading through her sex, noticeably wet as she spoke, Widowmaker continued her description of Tracer’s new life to her captive audience. Lena meekly nodded, a pleading affirmative escaping her filled, muffled mouth as the younger girl felt her lustful, begging sex build in intensity with every word her captor spoke,

“If you are a good _chienne_ , you may be permitted to cum.” Stated Widowmaker matter-of-factly, both captor and captive’s sex pulsing with desire at her sultry sentence. The former Amelie kept her right hand in position holding the extreme of Lena’s leash in her bound toy’s gaze, whilst her left palm began to rest against her own right inner-thigh, creeping unconsciously towards her sex.

“If you are fully obedient, you may even be permitted to pleasure your _mistress_.” As she spoke, Widowmaker’s left hand began rubbing its bottom edge against the crotch of her jeans, her wet entrance massaged gently as she saw Lena’s reaction to her words. The younger girl quivered gently, pleading pants hitting her restricting ballgag as she clearly relished the thought of not only finding release herself, but in being _permitted_ to pleasure the woman who had captured, bound, gagged and fingered her to the point where she was so flooded with pleasure from her desperate sex she agreed to sign her whole future away to be nothing more than Widowmaker’s _petite chienne._

_“_ I will keep you fed, permit you to wear your _accelerator…_ ” Widowmaker continued, now firmly massaging her sex through the tight denim as she spoke, becoming lost herself in her own deepest fantasy coming to life before her eyes, the bound, gagged and naked Lena begging for release and submitting quietly as her new life of sexual slavery was described to her. Tracer briefly remembered her chronal accelerator, the device that she needed to wear once a day at least to prevent phasing in and out of time through chronal disassociation, before it, just as everything else, was washed away by her burning desire for sexual release.

“And you will live here as my obedient pet, living only for my pleasure.” As she spoke, slender blue fingers slipped between her soft, blue skin and the waist of her tight jeans, wasting no time in finding her own wet, warm entrance. Widowmaker began to gently rub her index finger up and down her damp slit, her fingertip touching the smooth, intimate flesh directly as she felt unmistakeable twinges of pure physical pleasure.

Lena paused for a brief moment as she heard Widowmaker’s words, pushing their way past the voice in the back of her head that shouted over and over for a shattering, physical carnal release that she was long overdue for. Her rational mind was long gone, subdued by her animalistic desires in much the same fashion as her own body was by Widowmaker. Before her powers of reasoning could come into effect, her body answered for her, letting out a quiet, affirmative grunt, trailing off into a lustful, pleading whine.

“Such a good girl…” Widowmaker trailed off, her soft fingertip flicking down gently upon her clit as her breathing became slightly heavier, feeling the waves of pleasure fill her own pleading sex. It was no longer just Lena begging for release - the former Amelie’s own lust had come to a head through the evening of capturing, binding and forcing into submission the beautiful, shy tomboy she had wanted to take between her thighs all those years ago.

Lena’s acceptance of her new position filled Widowmaker with an indomitable feeling of power, accompanied by an equally strong need for her own sexual release. The former Overwatch agent lay bound and thoroughly gagged in front of her, that curvaceous, athletic body forced into immovable bonds as she begged to be used, to be fucked and enslaved even further, to live as the older French beauty’s obedient sexual pet, living only for her mistress’s pleasure.

Unable to contain herself for much longer, Widowmaker allowed the hand-hold of the leash to drop, landing on the bed sheets with a soft metallic thud. She straightened her knees, standing up fully as she slipped her left hand with noticeable hesitation out from between her own legs. Stepping a short distance to the side, again aligning herself with her newly-obedient pet’s plump, gorgeous ass, the former Amelie let out a quiet, subtle moan of pleasure of her own.

“Here is your reward, _ma petite chienne._ ” As the last word of the lustful, teasing sentence hit Lena’s ears with its thick French accent and playful tone, a very physical exclamation point was added as Widowmaker’s soft, slender index finger once more slipped inside her young captive’s slick-wet, desperate sex. Its moment of entry was greeted by a stuttering, guttural moan from the young pet-girl, her eyes rolling back as her hypersensitive sex felt every minute detail of the digit forcing its way inside her once more.

“Ummnmff… ffmmnmmff…” groaned Lena loudly, her lower lip quivering as more and more drool escaped. As the intruding finger began once more its rhythm of pumping in and out of the pleading bound brunette, this time entering her with its full length, Widowmaker’s right hand unbuttoned her own tight jeans, pushing the front of them open to reveal her black panties, constructed at this moment equally of lace and her own intimate juices.

“..mmhhmn..” Widowmaker moaned gently to herself as her right index finger began firmly and lustfully massaging her own clit, hips gyrating lightly as she did so. At the same time, her left hand continued its sensual rhythm, pumping in and out of Lena’s engorging sex to a concert of the younger girl’s overstimulated, slutty moans and the delightful, quiet noise Widowmaker’s intruding finger made against her plaything’s most intimate area on every re-entry.

Lena shouted wordlessly into her muffling gag, her sex held at the edge of a terrific, shattering release by Widowmaker’s expert finger. As she listened to the cacophony of noises emanating from her new pet-girl, the former Amelie smiled to herself. If this is what happens with one finger, then this _petite chienne_ has much left to learn, she thought, as her right hand worked to spread pleasure throughout her own body.

After a few more seconds of keeping her obedient plaything on edge, the younger girl’s hips spasming as she inched closer and closer to the defining climax she had been building towards, Widowmaker’s wrist slowed the rhythm down, before finally, agonisingly slowly retracting her finger, soaked in Lena’s most intimate fluids. The ballgagged brunette panted, almost hyperventilating as she let out a loud, begging whine followed by quiet, subdued sobbing, remembering her new place.

With a smile at her pet’s understanding of the strict relationship between mistress and pet-girl, Widowmaker denied herself the release she craved by removing her own right hand from her sex. I didn’t go to the effort of capturing and enslaving this _petite chienne_ to get _myself_ off, she thought, her own pleading sex having to wait for a later time where it could be fulfilled.

Extending her right index finger, moments ago buried in her own wet, hungry sex to just under her plaything’s nose, Widowmaker waited a moment for the younger girl to take a deep breath. As she did so, Lena’s lips pushed out a contented, intrigued tone, like a puppy smelling its favourite food. Taking three short breaths, the captive pet-girl tried her best to memorise every detail of the bouquet she had longed to smell for so many years.

The now unmistakable scent of the former _Amelie Lacroix._

“It is your bed time, _ma petite chienne_.” Said Widowmaker with a contented sigh, forcing her own sexual urges into the back of her mind as she spoke, her sex burning with its own desire. 

Lena’s first night as her mistress’s obedient pet-girl was to begin.

And the former Lady Lacroix knew exactly what sweet dreams were in store.


	11. Lena Oxton, obedient pet-girl: 2080 - Present

“We had best get you ready, _ma petite esclave docile_.” The words from Lena’s new owner drifted gently into her ears as her mind slowed, focusing only on the sweet, forbidden smell lingering in her nostrils. Eyes closed, a contented, hungry groan squeezed its way past the rubber ball filling her mouth. 

A full, satisfied smile spread across the former Amelie’s own plump, perfect lips as she quickly pulled her finger away from Lena’s cute little nose, twitching slightly as it took two more hopeful breaths. The helpless ex-pilot quietly sighed in pleading disappointment as she half-opened her eyes to see her captor’s scent was no longer on offer.

Widowmaker revelled in the newfound obedience on display from her beautiful, shapely pet, bound and gagged before her and begging for sexual release. She felt her own sex grow hotter, pulsing and begging for attention, spurred on by the delicious sight before her of Lena Oxton finally pleading to be her erotic plaything, to live only for her touch and the pleasures only she could bring.

Lifting her exquisite mocha-brown turtleneck swiftly over her head in a smooth, well-practiced motion, the former Amelie flicked her head to the side, dismissing a stray strand of her long, silky dark-blue hair from her face. Her feet, comfortably inside thick, black socks, carried her silently the few steps away from the bed to her closet, where she promptly hung the garment.

Lena’s ears perked up at the sound of the closet opening, and some further activity she couldn’t distinguish from sound alone. She subconsciously mumbled her thoughts quietly into her gag, still oppressively filling her mouth and silencing her oh-so effectively. The trail of drool continued to flow down her chin and neck, to the middle of her bare, naked breasts, now unnoticed by the captive ex-Overwatch agent. Certain slender, purple-skinned fingers had given her much more important things to think about.

As her brunette pet’s mind wandered back to her own primal urges, Widowmaker quickly bent down, removing her tight jeans and socks before placing them, folded with military precision, on the lowest shelf inside the closet. Stepping backwards as she closed the closet door, clad only in her lacy black panties and matching bra, a particularly devilish idea crossed the former Lady Lacroix’s mind. Biting her own lower lip gently as she turned her head to once more take in the girl laying bound atop the bed, Widowmaker set her new plan into motion.

“…mnmmhn…” Tracer groaned gently into her gag, her eyes gazing half-lidded at the room in front of her as she waited for her mistress to return. Her hips squirming did little to relieve her pent-up sexual energy, overflowing and ready to explode as her sex continued to override her mind and body, its most intimate juices soaking into the bed sheets.

“Hnmmhm…!” A cool, soft palm resting seductively on Lena’s right ass cheek prompted a louder, though still subdued groan from the helpless younger girl. The long, slender fingers attached to the palm rested upon the bound brunette’s soft, yielding flesh a fraction of a moment later, resting for a mere second before gently squeezing, forcing a quiet, pleased squeal.

Widowmaker’s free left hand reached for the remaining item just beyond her plaything’s feet: a blindfold, comprised of a buckling strap the same as that used on the many cuffs adorning her pet, and a thick, custom-shaped leather pad ideally made to sit across the eyes and upper nose of it’s wearer, allowing very little light past. And of course, rendering the recipient totally blind.

Dropping the leather blindfold, co-ordinated to match every other piece of bondage apparatus applied to Lena thus far, from a few inches down onto the younger girl’s upper back, Widowmaker smirked deviously. Her right hand continued to grope Tracer’s helplessly exposed, plump runner’s ass, delighting in the subdued, pleading squeals it created as she felt her plaything’s breathing quicken and muscles tighten.

Slowly removing her right hand from that delicious, round mound of flesh, much to Lena’s disappointment, the former Amelie quickly and silently slipped her own panties down to her ankles, retrieving them with her right hand after a quick bend at her knees. Her left hand straightened the wet, lacy pair of intimate undergarments out such that their centre rested upon the palm of her right hand as she took a half-step sideways, licking her lips seductively.

“Since you’ve been such a good _petite chienne,_ you may have a treat.” purred Widowmaker, giving her pet a second to let out a quizzical squeak and open her eyes fully before divulging the exact nature of the _treat._ The former Amelie brought her right hand, her own wet, worn panties resting upon it, to Tracer’s head height, just to the right of the young captive’s field of view. Widowmaker’s bare sex glistened, her own intimate juices finding their way outside of her lower lips thanks to anticipation for what was about to happen.

“Fnnmmfnff!” Tracer squealed as she felt a firm, strong grip clamp cloth over her nose and mouth, as another hand forcefully grasped the back of her head by its short, smooth chestnut hair and held it immovably in place. The cloth pressed firmly against her nose, restricting but not stopping her breathing as she writhed against the pressure for a brief moment before she breathed in.

“…uunnhhmmm…” groaned Lena contentedly, eyes falling back into a lustful, half-lidded gaze as her nose breathed in more and more of what was unmistakably _Amelie Lacroix._ The fact that the cloth clamped over her nose was the panties her captor had just been wearing, soaked with the scent that the helpless ex-pilot would do anything to smell, was simply too much. With every breath of that divine bouquet, the girl once known as Tracer slipped further and further into an amorous stupor, her lust surpassing everything else.

Widowmaker bit her plump lower lip once more, delighting in the result before her. The internationally-renowned Overwatch agent, enemy of Talon and irrepressible force for good laying atop her bed was inches away from worshipping every part of the former Amelie’s elegant, beautiful body as a gift from heaven. 

Taking in the sounds of Lena Oxton contentedly, lustfully smelling her sopping panties for a few moments more, Widowmaker removed her left hand from the bound brunette’s soft, smooth hair. Keeping the black lace held firmly over her plaything’s nose, her right hand relinquished the top half of the intimate undergarment as her left pinched its waistband between thumb and forefinger. 

In a concerted motion, Widowmaker’s left hand pulled the rear waistband of the lacy, soaked panties to the back of Lena’s head, meeting the top of her neck, allowing the elastic to hold it in place against her plaything’s hair. At the same time, the former Amelie’s right hand held the front waistband in place, pulling it down over the thick ballgag filling Lena’s mouth, bringing it to rest past her chin.

Lena Oxton lay bound, gagged and naked, helplessly overstimulated and now with a new layer of humiliation added on top. Widowmaker’s wet, worn panties were stretched over her head, the wettest spot fixed atop Lena’s nose, filling her every breath with the sweet, forbidden smell they both knew drove the ex-pilot deeper and deeper into total sexual submission.

“…hmmmmnnh…” Lena groaned in a wavering, high-pitched tone, her eyelids fluttering as she breathed in more and more of the smell of _Amelie Lacroix’s_ wet sex. Thanks to the ballgag filling her mouth, drool flowed as always down the helpless plaything’s delicate chin, now soaking into the fabric of her captor’s panties before continuing it’s humiliating flow down her bound, naked body.

“My my, you’re enjoying this more than I thought, you horny little bitch.” purred Widowmaker, her last three words as sharp and pointed as a snake striking it’s prey. They did little to deter her obedient captive, who gently moaned what sounded like a heavily muffled version of ‘uh-huh’. As she spoke, the former Amelie unfastened and removed her elegant, lacy black bra, holding it by one strap between her right thumb and forefinger before Lena’s half-lidded eyes.

“How long have you dreamed of seeing me like this, Lena?” ending her sentence with a soft, seductive kissing sound, the former Amelie knew she wouldn’t be able to understand her captive’s reply - and nor did she care. Lena’s eyes followed the gentle sway of her owner’s bra like a metronome, transfixed by the sight and the smell still flowing into her nostrils.

“My body, completely naked?” Widowmaker’s thick French accent wrapped around each word, transforming each into a sensual symphony as they hit Lena’s ears, prompting a low, guttural moan, quiet but unmistakable in its intensity. The brunette bondage slave had yearned for years to such a sight, and both girls knew it.

“Perhaps you’d even like to touch it. My breasts, my legs, or…” with a flick of her wrist mid-sentence, Widowmaker sent her bra to the floor with a soft thump, breaking Lena’s gaze as her eyes returned to a lustful, half-lidded gaze in front of her. The former Amelie studied the girl in front of her, taking great pleasure in Lena’s quickening breaths and the increasing squirming of her hips.

“Mmhmmn! Mmnmmh!” Lena tried her best to nod in agreement, her strict hogtie severely restricting the movement her neck and head could achieve. As she did so, Widowmaker plucked the blindfold from laying atop the former Tracer’s toned, soft upper back with her left hand, placing it in her right as the straps fell either side, dangling loosely.

“Tsk tsk, not yet, _ma petite chienne._ It is only your first night.” Widowmaker pressed the leather pad of the blindfold firmly over Lena’s eyes as she spoke, prompting a quiet squeal from the newly submissive sex slave. In a brief moment, the former Amelie’s dexterous fingers fastened the straps around the back of her plaything’s head, tightening the straps against Lena’s short, chestnut hair as the younger girl was plunged into a world of darkness.

“Remember, my eager little slut. You exist for my amusement, not yours.” As she spoke, Widowmaker’s right palm gently pressed against her plaything’s right breast, splayed fingers joining it a fraction of a second later and squeezing firmly, turning the slightly panicked breaths of the helpless ex-pilot into nothing more than high-pitched, begging wails.

Laying bound, gagged and naked, her mistress’s panties pulled over her head and now blindfolded with her breast mercilessly groped, all Lena could think of was when she would finally get the sexual release she craved. Until now she had always been able to see the world around her - even if it was of limited use with her head fixed facing forward, it provided comfort. Now, with her eyes taking in nothing but her newly enforced darkness, Lena became more and more aware of the physical sensations running through her body.

The soft, cool skin and slender, elegant fingers squeezing and fondling her breast, to the feeling of the cuffs against her skin, to the lustful writhing of her hips against the bed sheet all coalesced into one message: Lena Oxton was no longer in control of her own body or her own desires, and she knew it. Whatever she did didn’t matter - she existed only to serve her mistress.

Her mistress, who Lena chose to believe was Amelie Lacroix, who she had lusted after for so many years, rather than Widowmaker, the cold-hearted assassin that same woman had become. The smell infiltrating her nostrils - and her mind - as well as the rhythmic, sensual attention being paid to her breast at that moment allowed her sex to convince her that this was all she’d ever wanted, and more.

All she had to do was give in to her desires, her overwhelming physical desire to give her helpless, bound and naked body to her owner as best she can, to please her and beg her for release, in the hopes of being allowed to worship and pleasure that tall, beautiful body as she had longed to for year after year, slipping a finger - or two - inside her sex in her bunk at night, her other hand pressed over her mouth so no-one would hear.

Widowmaker knew from the quiet, gratified moans with each renewed squeeze on that pert, bare breast that Lena had slipped fully into subspace, the mental state where sexual submission to one’s mistress becomes all that matters, the centre of all thoughts and attention. With a contented smile, the former Amelie continued her sensual work with her right hand, as her left stroked Lena’s left cheek gently with the back of its fingers, gliding across skin and leather.

Such delightful progress for her pet’s first night, thought Widowmaker. She always knew Lena Oxton would make a better puppy than a pilot, and the pleading girl in front of her confirmed it.

But there was much more to do, starting tomorrow morning.

Lena’s new life was just beginning.


	12. Lena Oxton, submissive and slutty: 2080 - Present

Widowmaker slowly opened her eyes, the morning light seeping past the sides of the thick mocha curtains covering the bedroom window and filling the room with a warm, pale light, perfectly and subtly illuminating the beautiful, freckled skin of the captive girl next to her, still gently sleeping in her newfound captivity.

The bound, gagged and naked girl formerly known as Tracer lay just as she had when she was instructed to sleep the night before, next to her new owner. The chain attaching her ankles to her harness ballgag in a strict hogtie had been removed, coiled neatly on the bedside table. Her cuffs, blindfold, collar and ballgag remained as did the pair of panties pulled over her head, as she lay straight on her front with her head turned to the right, her soft left cheek resting on bedsheets damp with her own drool.

The spreader bar forcing Lena’s legs apart at the knees also remained, allowing her purple-skinned mistress to easily guess the content of the captive girl’s dreams. Lena’s sex lay bare and inviting, its slit glistening gently as beams of light illuminated the trail of intimate juices running down the warm, wet lips begging for the former Amelie’s intruding fingers to enter once more.

“…mnmmh…” Lena quietly groaned in her sleep, shifting her shoulders unconsciously. Her toned, flexible body was handling her new restraints well, even though she was bound at the wrists, ankles, knees and elbows. The former Lady Lacroix knew her plaything would wake up a little sore, manly in her shoulders, neck and jaw, her mouth filled with the imposing, silencing ballgag.

Widowmaker tucked her legs underneath her body, kneeling on her side of the bed, her knees an inch from Lena’s left side. Her captured pet had been left facing the bottom of the bed, as she had been since she first awoke from her kidnapping, whilst the former Amelie had slept in the proper orientation, her feet next to her willing slave’s head as her own rested on one of two soft, full pillows at the head of the bed.

The former Lady Lacroix brought her arms above her head, lacing her fingers with her palms facing the ceiling as she pulled her elegant, classically beautiful frame up towards the sky in a much-needed stretch, her muscles releasing their sleep-induced lethargy in a single gratifying instant. Tilting her neck back and upwards in concert, the dominant assassin paused for a moment to organise her thoughts.

There was much to do, of course. Capturing and enslaving the beautiful tomboy formerly known as Tracer was just the first step. There were many more for Lena Oxton to fully become the obedient, begging plaything her mistress needed her to be, spending her every waking moment with thoughts of how she could best serve and worship the elegant French goddess who owned her mind, body and soul.

“ _C’est le temps de reveille, ma petite chienne._ ” smirked Widowmaker, bringing her hands down to rest on her cool, bare thighs. Her fingertips slid down to the top of her knees, pausing for a brief moment as her head tilted to fix her gaze on the bound brunette laying before her, still sleeping lightly in her enslaving bonds. The dominant assassin’s right hand placed its fingertips gently upon Lena’s left hip, the side closest to her, gliding gently across that smooth, freckled skin.

“…hhmnmn…” Lena mumbled quietly, on the brink of waking, her world still deep in darkness thanks to the tightly-applied blindfold, her mistress’s panties stretched tightly across her face with the former Amelie’s intimate juices long since dried, pulled tightly over the harness ballgag reducing her words to incoherent mumbles.

Fingertips drifting sensually across her sleeping plaything’s soft, freckled flesh, Widowmaker’s right hand made its way slowly, teasingly across Lena’s left hip, passing the voluptuous ass cheek she so adored. Without any hesitation, the former Lady Lacroix’s expert digits moved gently to the inside of her willing pet’s thighs, palm facing upwards as her index finger extended.

Biting her own full lower lip gently, Widowmaker let her extended finger linger inches from Lena’s sweet-smelling, inviting sex, its lips spread slightly apart by the spreader bar forcing her legs apart at the knees. A contented sigh left her lips as she took in sight of the bound, gagged and naked girl in front of her, sleeping peacefully in her submissive captivity.

With a slight hint of mischief spreading across her face, Lena’s mistress pushed firmly against the younger girl’s lower lips, the captive ex-pilot stirring as a slender, feminine fingertip pushed its way inside her sex, sliding fully inside within a moment. Widowmaker smiled as her finger felt its warm, wet surroundings tighten around it, Lena’s hips spasming against the intruder.

“Mnmmhpphm!?” squeaked the bound brunette, her hands reflexively struggling against their imposing cuffs as her head moved the little that her bonds allowed, eyes still seeing only darkness. Her perfect pink lips writhed once more against the full rubber ballgag filling her mouth as her captor began to pump the intruding finger in and out of her sex with rhythmic intensity.

“…mmnmmhmm…” After a brief moment of surprise, Lena slipped once more into her newfound role as a pleading, submissive plaything, her sex almost instantly overpowering her capacity for rational thought. Her hips pushed as best they could towards her owner’s pleasuring hand in rhythm with each push in and out of her awakened sex.

Her first waking moments overflowing with pulsing, animalistic desire, Lena moaned lustfully into her ballgag, all thoughts returning to when she would finally be allowed her long-awaited release. A small grunt accompanied each renewed thrust inside her desperate sex, the helpless ex-Overwatch agent’s breath quickening with each passing moment.

“Good morning, _ma petite chienne_ ,” purred Widowmaker, her words wrapped in sultry tones and topped with her thick French accent. She looked to Lena’s head as she spoke, her intruding finger continuing its work of driving her delicious, beautiful captive deeper and deeper into her new life as the dominating assassin’s obedient, submissive plaything.

“Mhmmnmhph…” moaned Lena in a fluttering, muffled voice, her best attempt at returning the greeting from her mistress prompting a subdued smile from the woman who had forced her into such tight bondage and insisted on keeping her bound and overstimulated in deep sexual slavery.

“Let me tell you what will happen now, _ma petite esclave._ ” Widowmaker’s right hand paused as she spoke, her extended, slender index finger fully inside Lena’s tight, warm sex, driving the bound brunette to her limit with sexual desire as she felt every detail of the devilish digit forced inside her. The former Amelie leant slightly down towards her plaything’s exposed right ear, and continued matter-of-factly.

“You will be fed, and allowed to wear your accelerator for ten minutes.” Lena nodded gently as she listened intently to her mistress, her breathing still noticeably quicker than usual as her hips, of their own accord, tried to push and twist against the finger lingering inside her, desperate for it to continue its sensual work.

“I know that is enough to keep you stable, my pet. Any more than that…” The soft, purple palm of Widowmaker’s left hand landed with a soft slap on Lena’s helplessly exposed left ass cheek, fingers spread wide as they gripped that bouncy, yielding flesh tightly, forcing a pleasured squeak from the overstimulated bondage slave as she felt round, manicured nails dig lightly into her freckled skin.

“…and you might forget you exist only for my pleasure, _mon jouet lascif._ ” Her finger resuming its work rhythmically stimulating Lena’s warm, increasingly wet sex, Widowmaker listened to the low, quiet moan the combination of her words and finger elicited from the pleasured plaything in front of her, trying desperately to add to her enjoyment with what little movement her hips allowed.

Releasing the grip of her left hand from the girl formerly known as Tracer’s perfect left ass cheek, Widowmaker slowly drew her hand away, delighting in the quiet whimper from her pet as she did so. A sharp pat followed on the same spot, stinging Lena’s soft, freckled skin for a brief moment. Seconds later, Widowmaker’s intruding finger, now slick-wet with the enslaved ex-pilot’s intimate juices once more slid out of Lena’s warm, inviting entrance, much to her audible disappointment, a wavering, slightly frustrated moan escaping past her oppressive gag.

“Now, since you’ve been such a good girl…” Widowmaker’s right index finger slipped between her lips as she trailed off, her tongue once more sampling the intimate flavour of _Lena Oxton_. After a moment of her tongue wrapping around her extended digit, her lips sealed tightly around it as she sucked every last drop of that precious fluid from her skin, her sex growing wetter at the taste of her precious plaything.

Slowly drawing her finger out from between plump, purple lips, the audible sucking sound from Widowmaker’s mouth was not lost on the bound young sex slave before her, who tried as best she could to rub her sex against the bedsheets in pleading response, begging her owner for a repeat performance. 

With a subdued smile, Widowmaker reached towards Lena’s neck, shuffling over towards the foot of the bed with her body as she did so. The fingertips of her left hand met her plaything’s skin firmly but gently, just as soft and beautiful as the best of her body, her fingers separated from their thumb to gently massage both sides of the ex-pilot’s neck, just below Lena’s buckled leather pet collar, leash still attached. 

“…nnnmmhhm…” Lena’s neck loosened completely in relaxation, her captor’s expert fingers pressing with learned precision on the exact points needed to spread tingles across her toned, tired neck muscles. For a brief moment, the bound brunette’s muscles told her this was the greatest pleasure she had yet experienced, before her sex rudely interrupted once more to remind her of the truth, pulsing with warmth and increasingly wet.

As her left hand continued to work out the knots that her sleeping position had made in Lena’s soft, toned neck, Widowmaker’s right hand began to massage her plaything’s shoulders, pushing the base of her palm firmly into just the right places of her lightly freckled lower back, noting the small shivers and quiet, appreciative moans each time she did so.

Fingertips twitching gently, Lena felt as if she was sinking into the bed as her sore muscles were brought back to life, with a very pleasant tingling spreading throughout her upper body as Widowmaker expertly relieved the pressure that had built up throughout the night. After a few minutes, her neck and shoulders felt as good as new, limber and rested.

After one final, firm push from her left hand, Widowmaker promptly pulled both hands away from massaging Lena’s supple, peachy skin and slid down to the end of the bed, her feet finding the floor exactly on cue as she quickly stepped to the side of the bed, facing her captive’s right side once more as she had the night before, when she had first forced her young plaything into bondage.

Reaching forward to grasp Lena’s left calf with her left hand, Widowmaker’s right deftly unfastened one extreme of the spreader bar forcing the younger girl’s legs apart from its corresponding thigh cuff, followed a moment later by the other end detaching from the right thigh cuff with a metallic click. As her right hand lingered on the inside of Lena’s right thigh, the former Amelie’s left hand tossed the now-free bar over to her side of the bed, landing with a soft thump a fraction of a moment later.

“Nmmhmnpph?” Lena mumbled quizzically, her eyes searching in darkness for answers she couldn’t see. Her hips shifted a little side to side, now unused to being able to close her legs, though the slender feminine hand, its skin soft and cool resting upon her inner thigh ensured she wouldn't want to close them anytime soon.

Widowmaker smiled with great pleasure at the sight of her permanent plaything voluntarily keeping her legs open, writhing her hips as best she could to invite her captor’s finger to enter once more. The sweet scent of Lena’s sex drifted upwards once more as the former Amelie took a deep breath, savouring every hint of the younger girl’s arousal.

“Now, it’s time for your feeding, _ma petite chienne._ ” purred Widowmaker, her right hand gently caressing back and forth across Lena’s inner right thigh, stopping teasingly short of her hips.

The former Lady Lacroix knew that Lena’s feeding wouldn’t be quite what she had in mind.


	13. Lena Oxton, massaged and molested: 2080 - Present

Widowmaker reached over to her plaything’s left shoulder, gripping it firmly as she pulled it towards herself, a not-so-subtle cue to the young captive in her grasp to roll over onto her back. With her legs now free of the spreader bar and the addition of her captor’s considerable strength helping to pull her over, Lena gingerly rolled over as best she could, her blindfold reducing every movement to a guessing game as she hoped it was in the direction her mistress wanted.

Her torso turning first, rotating at the waist before her hips and legs followed a moment later, the beautiful brunette formerly known as Tracer lay once more on her back, closer than ever to the edge of the bed, staring blindly at the ceiling in her tight, restrictive bondage, mouth filled with the thick, purple rubber ballgag forced between her lips. 

“…mhmnph…” grunted Lena gently, shifting her shoulders slightly to adjust to her new position. Though she didn't have to wait long for her next reorientation; a slightly cool, feminine hand slid underneath her upper back, pushing upward to force her to sit up. With gentle but firm encouragement, the ex-pilot sat up as best she could, worried about losing her balance thanks to her lack of vision. After a brief moment of uncertainty, the guiding hand left Lena’s back as she sat up under her own balance, bent at the waist, leaning slightly forward.

Her right hand moving to her plaything’s toned lower back, Widowmaker’s left reached down to Lena’s right calf, slender blue fingers pressing firmly against taught peach skin as the former Amelie began to push with her right hand as she pulled with her left, prompting her helpless pet to turn towards her. After a brief moment of shuffling, the captive ex-Overwatch agent was almost fully turned, her legs now hanging from the edge of the bed as she sat up, head forward.

Widowmaker withdrew both her hands from her delightful new toy’s warm, soft flesh, taking a half-step back to admire Lena’s gorgeous, athletic body. This was the first time she had seen her upright for a little while, ever since before she woke up from her forced nap in inescapable bondage. From her slender, beautiful neck, to her pert, bare breasts and flat stomach, the dangerous assassin paused for a moment to take in the sight of the exquisite creature in front of her, watching as a thin trail of drool glistening in the morning light began to run down that beautiful neck to the top of Lena’s chest.

Biting her own plump lower lip gently for a brief moment, Widowmaker stepped forward towards the bed, pivoting as she met it to perch on the edge next to her plaything, both girls sitting naked with their bare bodies tantalisingly close, skin begging to meet skin. Predictably, the former Lady Lacroix made the first move, slowly turning her upper body to face her plaything and moving towards her, perfect breasts dressed in cool, purple skin pressing snugly against Lena’s right upper arm, Widowmaker bringing her own arms forward at her shoulders to push them against her plaything more.

“Do you know what these are?” purred Widowmaker, whispering teasingly into her captive pet’s right ear as the younger girl shuddered gently. Her arm pressing against her captor’s chest, the beautiful breasts she had longed to touch and kiss for so long squeezed against the side of her hopelessly bound arm was enough to illicit a low, guttural moan from the enslaved ex-pilot, much to her mistress’s delight.

“I am completely naked next to you, ma petite esclave.” teased the dominant assassin, her right hand beginning to dance soft, feminine fingertips in delicate circles across her plaything’s flat, toned stomach. The bound brunette felt her own heart thumping in her chest, breathing gradually quickening as her imagination began to run wild. For years she had longed to see that elegant French beauty on the other side of the mess hall like this, and here she was, not just naked but pressing herself against Lena, whispering seductively in her ear. 

“Just look at what I can do to you.” continued Widowmaker, her right hand drifting upwards across the girl formerly known as Tracer’s heated, effortless skin until it reached the underside of her right breast, cupping it gently as the younger girl squeaked quietly. Splayed fingers gently grasped the soft, yielding flesh, Widowmaker’s thumb rubbing upon her sexual pet’s hardened nipple in deliberate, sensual circles, taking great delight in the quiet, wavering squeals from behind Lena’s stifling gag.

“And you cannot do a thing to me, ma petite chienne…” breathed Lena’s beautiful new owner, finishing her sentence a fraction of a moment before her plump, perfect lips met the bound brunette’s neck, sucking teasingly on her succulent, peachy flesh. Widowmaker’s tongue extended past her lips, licking Lena’s neck seductively as she pulled her lips away, leaving a circular red mark and a trail of saliva joining her mouth to her new toy.

“…though you are dying to do something, anything, to my naked body, aren't you?” Widowmaker growled seductively as she spoke, her lips and a moment later, her teeth gently biting her plaything’s lower right ear, each passing second quickening Lena’s breathing more as her heart thumped in her chest, the trail of drool now well on its way to her belly button.

“Pllmmphmm…” begged Lena, her lower lip writhing against the ballgag filling her mouth as her toes curled, all of her willpower being used to keep herself still, the almost irresistible urge to throw herself on top of her captor’s luscious naked body driven by her once-more pleading sex. The curvy captive tipped her head back, half of her wanting to throw it back and scream for permission, the other half nervous about moving without her owner’s permission.

“Please what?” Widowmaker’s right hand gripped Lena’s exposed breast tighter, her thumb pushing hard on the younger girl’s stimulated bust as her left hand snaked around the captive brunette’s shoulders, reaching around to lightly grasp the ex pilot’s throat, palm placed squarely upon it, interrupting the flow of warm drool and forcing a surprised grunt from the younger girl.

“Pllmmmhpph mmpphmnmh!” came the squealing reply, accompanied by light gurgles as Lena adjusted to the gentle grip on her throat, every detail of her captor’s hand felt keenly on her skin. Widowmaker pulled away from her plaything’s ear, a sultry smile across her lips as she squeezed her grip with both hands slightly harder, letting her silence play on Lena’s desperate mind for a few moments as the helpless captive felt her throat tighten and her breast forcibly stimulated, the former Amelie’s slender feminine fingers bringing out equal measures of fear and pleasure at once from the hopelessly overstimulated, newly-enslaved pet girl.

“That is more like it, ma petite chienne.” A tinge of venom in her words, Widowmaker promptly released her grip on the girl formerly known as Tracer’s breast, leaving it with a stinging slap from her right fingertips to its exposed nipple, forcing another squeak from the bound girl. The former Amelie’s left hand tightened its grip ever so slightly for a brief moment before letting go, much to the gasping relief of her captive plaything, Lena catching her breath and trying to compose herself as part of her mind still couldn't believe Amelie was pressing her bare breasts against the younger girl’s toned, freckled arm.

It probably should have struck her as more unbelievable that she was bound, gagged, naked and blindfolded on the French beauty’s bed - not to mention, groped and fingered repeatedly - but her rational mind had been subdued some time ago. Lena’s sex was running the show now, its lustful currents pulsing through every inch of her, turning her every breath, thought and action towards getting its long-awaited release.

“Now. To get you ready for your first day of servitude, ma petite esclave.” Said Widowmaker matter-of-factly, taking great enjoyment at the tiny nod and quiet, almost inaudible whine it brought out from her beautiful doll. Pulling her body away from Lena’s and standing up, the former Amelie turned, bending slightly at the waist to place her lips tantalisingly close to her slave’s ear, enjoying the slight shiver from Lena as she felt the older woman’s breath on her skin.

“…the first of many, my beautiful, permanent toy.” Ending her sentence with a playful kissing sound, her words flowed into Lena’s mind as she sat, bound, blind and silenced, even her sex pausing for a moment at that word. Permanent. At once both puzzled, frightened and excited, the captive ex-pilot had no choice but to stew on it for a few moments, her captor having left her alone on the bed for the first time since her capture.

Her train of thought kept coming back to two words in that last sentence, one beginning to outweigh the other with each passing moment as her sex begged louder and louder for its shuddering, earth-shattering release. Beautiful, spoken in the thick, elegant French accent Lena had longed to hear it in all those years ago, began to edge out permanent as the focus of her attention. The young captive’s toned, lightly freckled thighs began to squeeze together, granting her warm, wet womanhood twinges of pleasure as best she could manage in her bonds.

In Lena’s head, the sentence began to transform into permanently beautiful, her mind once more slipping fully into subspace, thinking only of pleasing her mistress in every way possible. If she could be forever beautiful to Amelie, she thought, any price was worth it - even her freedom to move, speak and orgasm as she wished. Years of longing for even a cursory glance from the aloof goddess across the mess hall culminated in a deep, low moan, pleading for that same women who now owned her body and soul to return, to speak to her, to touch her once more.

The submissive ex-Overwatch agent’s inner monologue was interrupted by a bulk of cold metal being put to her chest, its familiar quiet hum reminding her of Widowmaker’s earlier promise. As her captor’s nimble fingers quickly secured the chronal accelerator to her chest, Lena sighed with relief, though she wasn’t sure whether it was because she wouldn’t disappear into the mists of time or because it meant Amelie was with her again.

Pausing for a few moments, admiring the sight in front of her, though wishing the bulky device affixed to her plaything’s chest wasn’t spoiling her view, Widowmaker reached over to the bedside table, a tall shaker with a lid and spout tightly screwed on top placed there moments ago. Her left hand reached for the container, shaking it vigorously but in a controlled fashion for exactly twenty seconds, allowing the contents to settle as her trained ears heard the tiny bubbles she had created pop inside.

Sitting once more next to her plaything on the edge of the bed, Widowmaker held the shaker between her thighs, the cold metal having no effect on her smooth, blue skin. Turning her upper body to face Lena, her right hand gently tipped the younger girl’s head back as her left soon joined it, unfastening the horizontal strap from the back of the harness ballgag keeping her silenced and drooling.

“I trust you will be a good girl when I remove your gag, briefly.” Widowmaker’s tone was that of a hopeful, yet disapproving teacher, her right index finger sliding its tip under the chin strap of the harness ballgag reducing the girl formerly known as Tracer’s words to nothing but meaningless moans. 

“Mmhmmn…” moaned Lena quietly, a slight, gentle nod accompanying her agreement. Her jaw was aching, the ballgag having been in her mouth for some time now, and she was very receptive to the idea of some food and water, not to mention her captor’s approval.

Lena waited as best she could, her perky breasts rising and falling gently with each breath as she felt both of her captor’s hands edge fingertips under the straps holding the harness in place.

She knew it was just the beginning of her day, her mind racing and sex pulsing at what might be next to come.

The woman removing her gag knew exactly what was next.


	14. Lena Oxton, begging for mistress: 2080 - Present

With a firm, slow pull, Widowmaker’s fingertips began to draw the thick, stifling purple ball from her slave’s mouth, the girl formerly known as Tracer feeling the unyielding rubber that had been so firmly forced between her lips and teeth for the past several hours move toward her captor.

Lena braced her neck, a tiny grunt escaping as she held against her owner’s slow pull on the straps either side of the ballgag, lest her head be pulled forward thanks to the size of the gag in her mouth. A quiet whimper escaped her open lips as the thick rubber ball found its widest point between her teeth, forcing the young captive’s jaw open even further than it had been.

Pausing for a brief moment, the former Amelie savoured her pet’s obedient reaction to the additional discomfort, Lena holding herself still and whimpering quietly, keen not to displease the blue-skinned goddess so kindly removing her gag.

Another slow tug from slender, feminine fingertips pulled the silencing sphere from between the captive ex-pilot’s teeth, still parting her lips as Lena let her jaw close for the first time in several hours. The ball rested on her plump, pink lower lip for a moment, causing a small torrent of drool to flow down her neck, engulfing the smaller flow from moments ago.

Lena exhaled slowly from her mouth, warm air drifting over her lips as she felt her gag begin to move once more. Widowmaker’s left hand pinched the strap fixed to the left side of the thick rubber ball, thumb and forefinger lifting the strap upwards and bringing the drool-slick orb, as well as the strap on the right side, with it.

“Open.” commanded Widowmaker sternly, holding the ballgag above Lena’s lips as her pet immediately obeyed, perfect lips parting once more as her mouth opened to its full extent. A short smile flashed across the former Amelie’s own plump, purple lips as she reached with her right hand, finding the top of the tall shaker held between her thighs and clicking the top open.

Grasping the middle of the shaker’s length between thumb and fingers, Widowmaker lifted its mouthpiece an inch from her plaything’s open mouth, tantalisingly close to Lena’s slick-wet bottom lip, drool running over its beautiful pink curves. 

Lena felt the smooth plastic of the mouthpiece slide gently over her bottom lip, closing her mouth after it as it slowly moved upwards to meet her top lip. A tight seal of perfect pink curves formed around it, as Widowmaker began to squeeze the container firmly, its sides giving way, forcing the thick, sweet liquid within into her captive’s waiting mouth.

“…mhmmlmm…” the bound brunette’s cheeks bulged slightly, the thick fluid building up in her mouth before she could bring herself to swallow at first. It tasted sweet, but a little odd, reminiscent of rations that Overwatch had handed out in years past for agents on field operations for extended periods of time.

“A meal from your mistress, and you don’t even swallow it? Tsk tsk…” scolded Widowmaker, taking great joy in seeing her pet hastily gulp down her mouthful of the syrupy broth upon hearing the former Amelie’s words. The blue-skinned beauty gave the shaker a sudden squeeze, forcing more than Lena was expecting into her mouth in an instant.

“Mmmnpplhm!! Mmnh…” Surprising her captor a little, who secretly hoped she would spill some of her liquid meal so that she could scold her some more, Lena obediently swallowed more and more of her thick feed as it flowed down her throat, filling her stomach. After a few more moments, Widowmaker angled the container upwards by its base, squirting the last few drops down the girl formerly known as Tracer’s gullet.

“…a Talon field ration, with a special flavour added just for you, ma petite chienne.” explained Widowmaker, studying her pretty little pet’s delicate neck as the last drop slid down inside Lena’s throat, the younger girl’s lips still tight around the shaker mouthpiece.

“It provides everything you need, without any… waste.” said Widowmaker contemptuously, turning her nose up at the thought. After all, her pet existed to serve her, not the other way around. She promptly pulled the empty container from the bound beauty in front of her’s lips, tossing it gently behind her onto the bed, the shaker landing with a soft thump.

“…nearly everything.” Dancing her fingertips across Lena’s toned, flat stomach, the former Lady Lacroix grinned mischievously, licking her plump purple lips as her fingertips joined together, sliding down that smooch, peachy skin towards her compliant slave’s warm, inviting sex.

“Mmnnmmhh…” a low, guttural moan escaped Lena’s newly-freed mouth, her jaw rocking side-to-side rhythmically to loosen up her muscles after spending the night tightly ballgagged. Her mouth hung slightly open, lips apart as her quivering lower lip and quickened breathing gave away what she hoped would happen next.

Widowmaker stroked teasingly up and down the beginning of her beautiful plaything’s mound, fingertips moving from smooth, soft skin to the roughness of short, brown pubic hair and back again. A shiver shot up Lena’s spine, making her torso tremble and her toes curl as her captor gazed contentedly at the ex-pilot’s pert, round breasts rising and falling with each quickened breath.

“…nnhhgnhhnn…” Lena bit her lower lip hard, tilting her head down and rolling her ankles in an attempt to expel some of the energy and sexual frustration her captor was building up inside her small, athletic frame with each extra second of sexual stroking.

Narrowing her eyes, Widowmaker’s perfect lips curved into a sultry pout as her right hand slowly stroked lower and lower on her captive’s most intimate area, fingertips almost touching the top of Lena’s wet, warm slit. As if her wishes weren’t already clear enough, Lena had begun breathing through her mouth, with small, pleading whines escaping with each exhale.

“Nmnmngh… please…” begged Lena quietly, her legs opening as best they could to entice the former Amelie’s fingers further south. On hearing her plaything’s desperate plea, Widowmaker paused her stroke, index fingertip resting upon the very top of Lena’s dripping lower lips.

“…what did you say, ma petite chienne?” inquired Widowmaker, in the fashion of a teacher asking a D student to repeat their answer. She watched Lena’s face and breathing with much interest, easily deciphering the struggle going on within her young prisoner’s mind.

Should I have said that, or not?

“…p-please…” Lena whimpered, her lower lip quivering as her breathing quickened to small, panicked gasps, her attempts to control herself proving futile in the moment as she felt Widowmaker’s fingertip just above where she needed it to be.

“…please what?” Widowmaker spat with a small sigh, rolling her eyes. Not that Lena could see her, or anything else for that matter, thanks to her still tightly-applied thick blindfold. A soft, high-pitched whine escaped the bound brunette’s lips as Widowmaker waited a moment for a reply.

A brief flash of rational thought filled Lena’s mind before she spoke. Why was she about to say this, to the woman who had captured, bound, gagged, blindfolded and fingered her for hours? How was she going to break… free… get release… release… release…

As quick as it started, the flash of thought was gone, overwhelmed by the tide of the girl formerly known as Tracer’s sexual desperation, her entire body wanting nothing but pleasure at the hands of Amelie Lacroix, forever and always. The brief protest on its way from her brain to her mouth changed en route to something far more pleasing to her captor’s ears.

“…please fuck me, Mistress…” pleaded Lena quietly, her head still tilted down in a useless attempt to hide how flushed with red her cheeks were at her own words, let alone her predicament as a naked, bound and gagged plaything on an assassin’s bed.

Widowmaker let out a confident giggle, heavily tinged with her thick French accent. Her fingertips resumed their sensual stroke, moving up and down once more, now travelling half the length of Lena’s beguiling sex.

Those were the words she had been waiting to hear for quite some time, and they brought her no little pleasure. The former Amelie felt her own heat spreading between her legs once more, herself wet and very much aroused by her helpless doll’s display of sexual devotion.

“That’s a good girl, ma petite chienne.” Widowmaker whispered seductively, her fingertip reaching the lowest point of her toy’s warm, inviting sex. She slowly drew her hand upwards, stroking across the sensitive line Lena’s lower lips made as they met, this time forcing more than a shiver and heavy breathing from her begging plaything.

“Please! Please fuck me, please mistress!” exclaimed Lena, her sexual desire overwhelming everything else once more as she kept her head in place, half by choice and half by Widowmaker still grasping the strap of her oppressive ballgag.

“Shut up, desperate slut.” hissed Widowmaker, promptly forcing the thick rubber ball back between Lena’s lips, between her teeth and filling her mouth in one smooth, forceful motion. In the process, the bound brunette’s head was forced upright, now facing forward once more as the straps rested on her face, drool running over her lower lip as Lena whined sobbingly into her gag.

The former Amelie swiftly brought her right hand away from Lena’s sex, joining it with her left as she buckled together the clasp at the back of the harness ballgag, forcing the straps tightly back into place across her plaything’s face and holding the ball immovably in the younger girl’s mouth once again.

Shifting her own body behind that of Lena’s on the edge of the bed, Widowmaker sat with her pleading pet between her legs, bare blue-skinned breasts pressed against the ex-pilot’s back as the dominant assassin’s slender, feminine right hand slid quickly down Lena’s chest, cupping her right breast briefly before finding its way to the top of her slit once more, pausing there.

“Such desperation. You are a filthy bitch, ma petite chienne.” stated Widowmaker matter-of-factly. Her tone was not disapproving, merely a record of facts as her right fingertips pressed firmly against Lena’s mound, reaching around the younger girl’s side to reach it.

“But you will be fucked when I wish. Not when you ask.” On her final word, Widowmaker slipped her right index fingertip inside Lena’s sex, flicking back and forth on her hard nub as the captive ex-Overwatch agent’s hips spasmed uncontrollably. A moment later, the former Lady Lacroix’s left arm slipped around Lena’s neck, pulling back against the brunette’s throat with the inside of her elbow.

“Gllmmnkk!” Lena choked, her breathing interrupted by the tight arm pressed against her windpipe, all the while her captor’s fingers pleasuring her sex with such intensity the ex-pilot’s eyes began to roll back in her head, itself tipped slightly backwards thanks to the forearm under her chin.

Lena’s response was panicked and mixed. Her hips ground forward rhythmically what little they could against the intruding fingers, as if by their own free will, whilst her hands writhed uselessly inside the leather bags tied over them, fingers rubbing against the soft lining.

One thing was for sure, she couldn’t breathe. This wasn’t like when Amelie had held her throat gently before, merely making her presence known. This a full choke, with the older woman in complete control of every aspect of Lena’s body, mind and soul.

Gasping as best she could to take air in through her nose and mouth, Lena began to twitch and spasm more as the intruding fingertips rubbing sensually inside her wet, welcoming sex pushed her closer and closer to something big, explosive and wonderful.

As she was forcibly brought closer to the climax she so desperately wanted, another sensation became even more urgent as she became acutely aware she not only couldn't breathe, but was also out of air. Her chest heaved, but failed to draw in any real oxygen as the pressure on her throat refused to let up, the silent woman behind her holding Lena completely helpless.

“HNNMHKK!!” screamed Lena, the combination of being ready to pass out and kept on the edge of the biggest orgasm of her life by the woman she had lusted after for all those years in Overwatch becoming too much to bear. Her arms and hands twisted frantically, failing to find a way out as her hips gyrated more and more against Widowmaker’s hand.

A fitting punishment for such a filthy bitch, thought Widowmaker, feeling every last twitch, spasm and yell coursing through her delicious young captive’s beautiful body.

As she felt Lena’s chest tighten, knowing the bound brunette was seconds away from passing out, Widowmaker released her arm from the smaller girl’s throat, feeling her captive take in several huge, panicked breaths as she withdrew her slender, feminine fingers from Lena’s sex.

After all, thought the former Amelie, where would the fun be if she passed out now?

They had a whole first day of training, after all.

A first day that Widowmaker couldn’t wait to start with her new pet.


	15. Lena Oxton, choked and groped: 2080 - Present

Lena’s chest heaved, quick, panicked breaths giving way to deep, focused intakes of air as her head buzzed, a frenzy of scattered thought steadily overwhelmed by a thick fog, the helpless captive’s mind turning blank as she regained full consciousness.

“…hmmmnphh…” groaned the bound brunette deeply, a desperate, pleading tone struggling to escape past her mouth-filling ballgag. Her head hung down slightly, defeated as she awaited the next move from the woman completely in control of her mind, body and soul. Widowmaker shifted to the side of her naked prisoner, enjoying the air of defeat and humiliation.

She didn’t have to wait long as the fingertips and thumb of Widowmaker’s right hand found their way to the soft, yielding skin of Lena’s right breast, slowly and sensually squeezing it as the girl formerly known as Tracer let out a whimpering moan, equal parts sexual and submissive, quiet squeaks and gasps reminding her captor of a pleading puppy.

“…are you ma petite chienne?” teased Widowmaker softly, her lips pouting as she spoke. Lena nodded gently, whining submissively as her stiffened right nipple found itself rubbed rhythmically by the tip of her captor’s thumb, cool, purple skin pressing against her own sensitive, peachy flesh.

“Good girl. That’s better.” The former Amelie punctuated her sentence with a tight, unexpected squeeze of her plaything’s breast, forcing a pained squeal from the younger girl as slender feminine fingers gripped Lena’s smooth skin harshly, leaving red marks in their wake.

“Nmmhff!” Lena squealed louder as she felt the sharp, stinging pain of her captor’s nails dig in, her body twitching initially to try and escape the pain before holding herself still, toes curling to distract herself as she waited for Widowmaker’s grip to release. A moment later, those painful fingers relinquished Lena from their grasp, accompanied by a quiet giggle from the beautiful assassin.

“Quiet, bitch.” Pressing her right index finger forcefully against Lena’s gagged lips, the bottom slick-wet once more with drool. Widowmaker reached for the back of her plaything’s head with her left hand, holding the buckle keeping the thick leather blindfold in place, forcing Lena into a world of darkness.

“You are about to see what you wished for, as a gift from your mistress. Understand?” The helpless ex-pilot’s mind raced, nodding gently as she felt her perfect pink lips push against Widowmaker’s commanding finger. Lena eked out a quiet positive grunt, a quivering ‘uh-huh’ that brought a small smile to her owner’s lips.

The former Lady Lacroix withdrew her finger from Lena’s lips, quickly moving it to the buckle. Within a moment, the strap holding the blindfold was free, with the enslaved ex-Overwatch agent feeling the pressure relieved from the back of her head. Widowmaker slowly pulled the thick, blinding leather from her plaything’s eyes, acknowledging the quiet grunt as Lena’s vision once more adjusted to daylight.

Widowmaker tossed the blindfold behind the bound younger girl, landing on the bed with a soft thump. She studied every detail of her captive’s newly-revealed face, faint lines left on peachy skin from the edges of the blindfold as Lena squinted for a few moments, trying to regain her visual focus after hours in forced darkness.

“…ffhnmmff…” Mumbled Lena, her words unintelligible behind the thick ballgag filling her mouth. Her captor could guess at what she was attempting to say, however, from the way the younger girl’s eyes widened, cheeks beginning to flush red once more as she looked up and down Widowmaker’s naked form, taking in every facet of the beautiful, feminine goddess before her.

“Like what you see, ma petite chienne?” teased Widowmaker, licking her lips seductively as she stepped in front of the bound and gagged Lena, whose beautiful brown eyes followed her obediently. The former Amelie stood over the helpless ex-pilot, taking great pleasure in seeing the younger girl look over her sultry body from bottom to top, before gazing up into Widowmaker’s own yellow eyes.

“Mhmmh…” Lena nodded pleadingly, her sex burning once again with passion and pure, sexual desire for the woman standing over her, every inch of her body from her wide, bountiful hips to her plump, purple lips, from her pert breasts to her slender hourglass waist forced the gagged brunette deeper and deeper into desperation, her sex overwhelming her as her thighs began to rub together as best they could in their bonds.

“Up.” With a seductive smile, Widowmaker promptly grabbed the leash attached to the collar around Lena’s neck, tugging it suddenly towards herself. Lena grunted, a mixture of surprise and discomfort as she gingerly found her feet, steadying herself as best she could before standing up straight, on two feet for the first time since her capture.

Lena stood nervously, as upright as she could, awaiting her captor’s next move. Her head reached only to Widowmaker’s shoulders, making her feel even more powerless and dominated than she already was, bound, gagged, naked and thoroughly defeated. Her eyes flitted between Widowmaker’s own piercing, yellow eyes, and her chest, which Lena couldn’t help but notice sported stiffened nipples of its own.

“You like my breasts, ma petite chienne?” said Widowmaker matter-of-factly, as if observing a business transaction. Before her pet could produce a muffled answer, the former Amelie pulled once more on the leash, forcing Lena to take an awkward step forward to keep her balance, pulling the bound brunette against her captor’s body.

“Hmmnmf!” grunted Lena, her mind at first registering only that she’d bumped into something, not that it was the naked body of the woman she had lusted after for so many years from across the mess hall. Before she had time to react, Widowmaker’s left hand grabbed a handful of her short, brown hair, her captor’s right hand holding the leash tight to keep her in place.

Forcing her to bend down slightly, Widowmaker pushed hard against the back of Lena’s head, roughly forcing her toy’s face between her own soft, blue-skinned breasts. Lena’s ballgagged lips rubbed against the space between, leaving a trail of drool as her cheeks and face were forcibly enveloped in her owner’s silky bosom.

“Nmmgh!” Lena struggled for breath a little, her nose pressed firmly against Widowmaker’s chest as her every breath was filled with the scent of her captor. After a few moments of humiliation, the former Amelie roughly pulled Lena’s head back with her left hand, much to the displeasure of Lena’s hair.

“Must you slobber over my breasts, you desperate whore?” said Widowmaker glibly, taking great pleasure in the expression staring back at her. Lena made her best attempt at a frustrated pout, her lips barely moving thanks to the thick ballgag forced between them, cheeks thoroughly flushed bright red as her eyebrows couldn’t figure out if they were mad Widowmaker had started or mad that she had stopped.

“Nmmmnmff!” groaned Lena, squeezing her thighs together as she stood to give what little attention she could to her pleading, begging sex. The sight of the young captive in front of her obviously attempting to masturbate over her mistress was not lost on the former Lady Lacroix, who followed on with a sharp tug downward on the leash.

“Down.” The captive ex-pilot stumbled downwards gingerly, not knowing whether to look at the ground for her balance or up at her mistress to please her sex. As she began to kneel, Widowmaker gave another, smaller tug, looking down at the beautiful captive treasure in front of her, staring back with full, brown eyes.

Widowmaker stepped forward, purposefully widening her stance as she pushed her mound gently against Lena’s forehead, the wet entrance to the dominant assassin’s sex meeting her plaything’s nose. Lena breathed in with a small shudder, an involuntary gasp escaping her gag.

“You are going to be a very good girl, or you will never taste this. Understand?” commanded Widowmaker, her emphasis on certain words heard loud and clear by her captive, Lena squeaking affirmatively, afraid to move her head for fear of losing the divine scent floating into her nostrils with every breath.

With a short, confident exhale, Widowmaker dropped the leash, its tip slapping the side of Lena’s left arm as it swung. The chain jangled lightly as the former Amelie stepped to her left, bending down as she did so. Lena remained facing forward, lost in a fog of sexual desire, her brain overloaded by the intimate situation she had just found herself forced into.

Widowmaker grabbed Lena’s wrists, pulling them sightly towards her as her trained fingers set to work on the constricting system of leather and buckles holding Lena in tight bondage. To Lena’s surprise, after a few moments she felt the cuffs holding her wrists together disconnect from each other, the chain disconnected altogether.

She rolled her wrists gently, muscles stretching as to her increased surprise the cuffs holding her elbows tightly together received the same treatment, their connecting chain once more removed. Before she had a chance to move, the bound brunette’s wrists were roughly taken in front of her, one in each of her captor’s hands, tightly gripped.

Widowmaker shuffled to her right, positioning herself in front of Lena. Forcing the enslaved ex-Overwatch agent’s hands together once more, this time in front of her, Widowmaker placed them palms-down on her plaything’s firm, toned thighs, pressing them down for a moment before standing up, quickly making her way to the bedside cabinet.

A moment later, accompanied by the sound of jingling chains, Widowmaker returned, crouched down in front of a confused Lena, kneeling and resisting the overwhelming urge to move her hands, still tightly encased in inescapable bags, to either attempt to escape, pleasure herself or touch her captor’s luscious body - not even she was sure, each train of thought derailing the other as fast as they began.

Four chains landed on the floor to Lena’s side with a metallic clink, with one plucked from the pile a moment later. Widowmaker wasted no time in dextrously attaching the length of sturdy metal, around 10 inches in length, to both of her plaything’s wrist cuffs, binding them together again, though with more slack this time.

“Ummnph?” Lena looked down quizzically at her newly-bound arms, grunting gently as her captor pulled her upper arms forward by the cuffs before attaching another 10 inch chain between them. Without any time to adjust, Widowmaker pulled her puzzled bondage slave forward by her upper arm chain, almost planting Lena’s face flat on the floor as she lost balance.

Lena grunted in noticeable discomfort, managing to get her bound hands in front of her as she fell, leaving her bent over on all fours. Drool quickly pooled beneath her, much to her dismay. She tried in vain to suck it back into her mouth, the flow slowing but not stopping as it slid over her lower lip and down her chin.

Widowmaker stepped to her left once more, now behind her delicious pet as she adeptly applied another identical length of chain to the set of cuffs on Lena’s thighs, the feeling of her mistress between her legs sending shudders up the young captive’s spine. Within a few moments, the shorter chain connecting her ankles was replaced as well, leaving her once more thoroughly bound.

But, something was different this time. Her previous bonds were there to make sure she didn’t go anywhere. These were different - still very restrictive, and she had no way of escape - but they were designed so she could move. Just not in the way the ex-pilot was used to.

Standing up to admire her handiwork, the former Amelie looped the leash through her fingers, tugging it gently as she stood in front of the subjugated plaything before her. Lena looked up as best she could, her hands remaining on the ground as quizzical squeaks escaped her gag.

“Come. Now you are truly ma petite chienne,” Widowmaker tugged on the leash as she began to step away from her precious prize, taking immense satisfaction in seeing the girl formerly known as Tracer stumble nervously, uncertain on the limits of her bonds for a few steps before finding her balance, finding her way after her mistress on all fours, gagged, naked and chained to walk like a dog with a leash to match.

“…mmnnhghh…” Lena groaned, the sheer embarrassment and humiliation of her new life setting in. She wasn’t dreaming. It had really happened. Not only had she been kidnapped, stripped, bound and gagged, fingered until she couldn't think straight, she was now being led on all fours, chained to walk like a dog, pulled by a leash as she drooled on the floor.

Her captor seemed to know exactly what she was thinking, as Widowmaker opened her mouth, words dripping with condescension.

“You will make a much better dog than you were an agent, ma petite chienne.” Lena hung her head, a wavering moan passing through her gagged lips as tears welled up in the corners of her eyes. She fought to hold them back as she felt another tug on her leash and began dutifully moving forward, continuing the trail of drool as she moved with the jingling of chains.

Widowmaker looked down at the humiliated, defeated puppy in front of her, admiring Lena’s curves as she took in her subjugated slave’s quiet, pathetic whimpers.

It was the beginning of her first day of training, and there was much to be done.


	16. Lena Oxton, bound little puppy: 2080 - Present

“…muunnmph…” groaned Lena quietly, her chains clinking together as she gingerly put one hand in front of the other, her right leading as much as her bonds allowed. Drool trailed down her chin and dripped onto the floor beneath her as she looked up at her captor with pleading eyes.

Widowmaker cast a condescending glance at the beautiful pet girl at her feet, a delighted smirk crossing her own lips as her eyes roamed across the former Overwatch agent’s toned, athletic body, finally finding their way to Lena’s deep brown eyes, begging her captor for release.

“Move those paws, my pet, before I have you drinking from the toilet.” scolded the former Amelie, accompanying her last words with a short tug on the leash as she turned away. She raised a quizzical eyebrow as she felt more resistance than before to her pull, letting out a contemptuous sigh before once again looking down into Lena’s eyes.

What Widowmaker saw surprised her a little, as the helpless ex-pilot furrowed her brow and once more showed signs of defiance in her eyes. Although it was hard to feel at all threatened by a girl who was bound, gagged and naked, chained to walk like a puppy and on a leash she was holding, the former Lady Lacroix paused for a moment, eager to see what would happen.

“Fmmnmmnfff!!” screamed Lena, her eyes scrunching shut as saliva flew from her gagged lips across the floor, some lightly spattering her captor’s left leg, much to the tall French beauty’s displeasure. The bound brunette pulled with her neck against the leash that controlled her, finding little movement in Widowmaker’s unnaturally strong grip.

Undeterred, Lena yelled once more into her oppressive gag, this time letting out a longer, more anguished tone as she tugged violently at the cuffs binding her wrists, their chain twisting and clinking but refusing to give an inch as the young bondage slave’s face turned a deeper red from her exertions.

Widowmaker stood still, silently observing her plaything with masked incredulity. Just when she thought she had finally broken the younger girl, Lena was resisting harder than ever before. 

Lena’s mind was clouded with anger, the utterly degrading toilet comment from her captor all she could think about as she furiously tugged and pulled at her rock-solid bonds. No matter how she twisted and wrenched at the chains connecting them, they refused to budge, leaving only pain on her wrists to show for her efforts.

Seeing no immediate end to her plaything’s protests, Widowmaker sharply raised her hand which held the leash, forcing Lena to not only tilt her head upwards but also raise up quickly onto her knees, the younger girl’s hands held out in front of her as she continued to fight against her chains.

“Fmmmnmff hmmnphh!!” Lena swore as coherently as she could at the woman holding her completely under her power, words still reduced to useless groans by the thick ballgag filling her mouth. As effective as Lena’s gag was, the former Lady Lacroix knew exactly what her captive was trying to say; from her sounds, to her furious expression, to the way her body strained and twisted as best it could for any kind of leverage against the chains binding her wrists.

Holding her in position with the raised leash, Widowmaker could see that Lena was clearly very uncomfortable, the leash pressing against her throat and forcing her head and body into an undesirable posture. She waited a few moments before speaking, glaring down into her angered captive’s eyes, filled as they were with resistance.

“Silence, bitch!” snapped Widowmaker, icily and loudly, her commanding voice piercing the air. To her surprise, it had little if any effect on the girl twisting and squirming at her feet, as Lena answered with a yell of her own and a loud, frustrated squeal as she pulled even more harshly against her bonds, twisting as much of her upper body against them as she could.

Widowmaker stared blankly for a moment, her mouth slightly open as she contemplated her next move. This isn’t what she expected to happen once Lena was bound and gagged in such humiliating fashion as she was, shown she was utterly powerless and reduced to a mere sex toy for the older French assassin’s pleasure.

What did it take to break Lena Oxton, thought Widowmaker as her mind scanned through a thousand possibilities of what to do next with the livid girl at her feet, fighting with all she had against her chains.

A smile spread across the former Amelie’s lips as the thought came to her, wiping away her stunned expression of a few moments ago. Wasting little time, Widowmaker granted her furious toy slack in her leash as she lowered her hand back to its previous height, removing the stress on Lena’s neck and back as the younger girl held herself in the same position, this time under her own power.

Quickly taking a few steps around Lena, before her captive knew where she was Widowmaker was kneeling behind the bound brunette, her free right hand roughly grasping the soft brown hair at the back of Lena’s head right as the captive ex-pilot turned to look at her once more.

“Hnnmff!!” squealed Lena in a mix of pain and frustration, her head turned 90 degrees to her left as her captors powerful yet slender and feminine hand roughly forced her head to the ground, bending Lena forward abruptly despite her resistance, until the brunette’s right cheek was forced against the ground, Widowmaker’s weight behind her right hand on the back of Lena’s head keeping it firmly in place, much to her captive’s discomfort.

“I see you won’t be a good girl and make this easy on yourself, ma petite chienne.” sighed Widowmaker with an air of malice, licking her lips as she finished her sentence. Lena writhed in her grasp, yelling into her gag as best she could in utter powerless frustration, her hands still pulling uselessly against their chains beneath her. The former Amelie released the leash from her grip, letting it land with a thud against the floor next to Lena’s head, the bound brunette being forced to become intimately acquainted with a puddle of her own drool.

“I tried to be nice and keep you as a loyal pet. But, it seems you are only good for one thing.” Widowmaker pushed her resistant sex slave’s head against the ground harder as she spoke, twisting her grip a little to make sure Lena’s face was fully covered with her own humiliating drool.

“So, you will be treated like a bad girl. Specifically, as my fuck toy.” Adding extra emphasis and venom on the last two words in each sentence as she spoke, Widowmaker took great pleasure in hearing the loud, saliva-distributing response to her latest statement.

“Nmmmnfmff?!” Lena yelled incredulously at her captor’s mention of ‘being nice’, wondering exactly which part of what she had done to the helpless ex-pilot until now could be considered ‘nice’. Her cheek was painful from being pressed hard against the floor, and the hair at the back of her head was stinging from the beautiful assassin’s powerful grip.

Lena began to yell in protest once more, but was surprised to feel an intruding index finger gliding across her entrance, teasing it once more. She tried to pull her legs together, only to find that Widowmaker was in fact kneeling behind her, strong cool-skinned legs between her own, preventing them from closing. The bound brunette had little time to think of an escape plan before she felt two slender, feminine fingers, slightly cool to the touch, slip themselves inside her most intimate area.

“Hmmmnmphh!!” squealed the bent-over Lena loudly, her eyes shooting open and eyebrows raising as she felt every minute detail of Widowmaker’s middle and index fingers pushing themselves fully inside her entrance. Unlike before, this was no slow, rhythmic teasing; before the humiliated ex-pilot could gather her thoughts, her captor had pumped her fingers in and out, back and forth, over and over in quick succession, showing no signs of slowing down.

As the former Amelie’s intensity increased, she felt Lena’s hips shudder, the bound brunette’s whole body shaking as her sex took over once more. Biting her own plump lower lip hard, Widowmaker looked down with interest and delight at Lena’s face, struggling as the younger girl was between being furious at being forcibly finger-fucked once again and the pleasure spreading through her whole body.

With every passing moment, Widowmaker kept up her intense rhythm, her hand slapping against her plaything’s mound as she thrusted inside her each time, over and over again faster than ever before. Lena’s protests continued, now an entertaining mix of frustrated yells and sensual, overwhelmed moans, but as each second passed the former Lady Lacroix could tell her favourite piece of property was losing the ability to coherently resist.

“…mnmmhullphhm…” Lena burbled, the thick puddle of drool under and around her face spreading as her eyes began to roll back into her head, eyelids half-closed as her hands lay limp on the floor beneath her, no longer tugging furiously at their bonds as her whole body spasmed, completely captivated by the pleasure her captor was forcing upon her.

With a satisfied smirk, Widowmaker withdrew her hand from the back of Lena’s head, seeing the younger girl was in no position right now to spoil her fun. Within a moment, her right hand found it’s way to her plaything’s most sensitive and intimate area, her thumb proceeding to flick and rub the helpless ex-Overwatch agent’s hard nub left and right, prompting loud, low wails from Lena.

As the pressure mounted more and more, Lena’s hips began to buck, an involuntary reaction that pleased her mistress greatly. With a devious smile, Widowmaker sped up once more, both her hands working sensually and dextrously towards the moment both girls had been waiting for.

A loud, wavering scream, only partly muffled by Lena’s mouth-filling ballgag left her lips, her entire body shaking and twitching as she came, her insides squeezing Widowmaker’s intruding fingers as hard as they could. Her heart pounding out of her chest, the bound brunette’s breathing was short, panicked breaths, her chest heaving as her body felt numb.

Widowmaker paused, her own sex past the point of wetness some time ago as she felt her juices sliding down her inner left thigh. Holding her fingers still fully inside her plaything, with her thumb pressing gently upon the younger girl’s clit, the former Amelie admired her handiwork in reducing such an energetic, feisty young woman to a half-lidded mess, twitching in a pile of her own drool, unable to think straight post earth-shattering climax.

Lena mumbled quietly into her gag, still filled with her captor’s fingers as her eyes closed, breathing beginning to slow down once more. The occasional twitch and spasm still permeated through her body, after by far the most intense orgasm of her life. Her mind was nothing but a jumble of cloudy thoughts, unable to form themselves into anything coherent.

“Ah yes, this suits you much better, ma petite chienne. In a puddle of saliva with your legs spread.” purred Widowmaker, her thumb gently swirling circles against Lena’s hard nub, prompting pleading, semi-frustrated wails from the younger girl. The former Amelie began to slowly draw her fingers out, taking great delight in the involuntary shuddering it brought out of her beautiful captive, laying in a puddle of her own drool in a state that could only be described as ‘fucked silly’.

“A much better use for this beautiful body. If you won’t be a good bitch, being fucked into stupidity a few times a day is the best use for you.” Lena’s thoughts began to collect themselves as her captor spoke, the venomous words sparking her will to resist once more. Not that her body was in any shape to act on it, as she lay limp and spent, feeling those slender feminine fingers withdraw fully from her sex.

“And using your body to pleasure your mistress, of course. There is no choice in it for you, cherie.” taunted Widowmaker, her mouth hanging half-open as she finished speaking, slick-wet fingers following a moment later as she took them inside her mouth, sucking all of her captive’s sweet juices from them with much enjoyment.

“…fnnmmff…” Lena mumbled an incoherent protest, her eyes still half-lidded as her body recovered from such an intense moment of sexual release.

Widowmaker looked down at Lena’s pretty, freckled face, as her own tongue lapped around her fingertips, making sure to taste every last drop of her delicious captive.

The fun was just beginning, thought Widowmaker.

And it was just as well; fuck toys are so much more fun than pets.


End file.
